


Compilation of the Monastery's Drunken Confessions

by SunshineOnACloudyDay



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Drunken Confessions, F/F, F/M, Feelings Realization, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, My Unit | Byleth Being an Idiot, Oblivious Caspar von Bergliez, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineOnACloudyDay/pseuds/SunshineOnACloudyDay
Summary: Wrote a drunken confession one-shot featuring Felix (First chapter, y'all) confessing to F!Byleth and realized that these are so fluffy and cute! I want to write more, so if you have any requests drop them in the comments. Tags will be updated every time I post another confession, and each chapter will be labeled with the character that it is about.Always F!Byleth (though I'll write it even if it's an F/F pairing that isn't canon) and the feelings are always reciprocated. I want this to be fluff, not angst. I write too much angst in my other stuff. Also, it's always going to be post-timeskip because I'm not into the idea of pre-timeskip  underage student/teacher action.Give me those rarepairs! I ain't scared!(There are a few characters I won't do... Cyril, Rhea, and Flayn come to mind... so I might pass if I feel weird about the pairing.)
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Shamir Nevrand, Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 90
Kudos: 198





	1. Felix: I've caught a case of YOU

They had arrived back at the Monastery this afternoon after a brutal battle at The Great Bridge of Myrddin. It had been a rousing success—thanks to more than a few uses of Sothis’ power—but she found that she couldn’t celebrate with the other soldiers. She had tried, staying and talking with a few, before inevitably admitting defeat and coming up to her father’s old office—now her office—in an effort to plan. Not much planning had happened so far, because her mind seemed to fixate on her morose thoughts.

She had killed her first student today. Ferdinand von Aegir, the goodhearted noble who had gifted her the beautiful teapot she was currently staring at—as though if she stared long enough it would make it so the last few days hadn't happened. She had fond memories of tea times with the ginger noble, teaching him how to better wield his lance, and discussing their shared admiration of special weapons and armor. She had tried so hard to sway him to their side, but no matter how many times she turned back time, he charged her or one of her soldiers. It seemed he was willing to defend the bridge with his life. It had to be done… but it still made her chest ache.

A loud ‘ _thump_ ’ out in the hallway pulled her from her depressing musings, and her hand instinctively went to her sword where it was leaned up against the desk at her right side for ease access. Fortunately, the sound was quickly followed by a drunkenly slurred, “ _Shhhh_!” that told her she wasn’t in any danger. It was probably Manuela with a date, stopping by the infirmary for herbs before taking them back to her room. She sighed deeply as she released her sword, carefully setting it back against the desk, and gingerly moved the delicate teapot back to where she normally stored it, draping a cloth over it in an attempt to block her mind from further flashes of Ferdinand’s face as he lay on the ground dying.

She turned at a knock on the door, calling, “It’s open,” as she pretended to look over the map of Fodlan that had taken up a permanent residency on her desktop.

“You!” She raised her head, allowing herself the barest moment of surprise as she took in Felix Hugo Fraldarius. She was still getting used to the changes in all of her students, but she found herself staring at Felix a lot more than the others. He looked so much older now, his jawline more defined and his edges rougher than they had been before. Something about his change in appearance affected her a good deal. He was currently dressed down—in the barest sense of the word, because she would hardly consider his standard turtleneck, slacks, and the fact that he was still obviously armed _dressed down_ —standing in the doorway pointing at her as if she had done something to personally offend him. His high cheekbones bore a flush— _a pretty flush_ , she idly noticed—that told her it had been his drunkenly slurred hushing out in the hallway.

And _boy_ was he drunk.

“Hello, Felix,” she greeted in her usual tone, trying to maintain her usual neutral features even when she had to push back a tickle of amusement. She was glad he’d taken a night to unwind a bit, though she hadn’t the foggiest idea why he had come up here. 

The swordsman huffed an annoyed breath as he staggered around the desk toward her, and she turned in her seat to face him, tilting her head back to look at him as he towered over her. “I have something to say,” he slurred, still pointing at her, his vermilion eyes slightly hazy.

She slowly stood from her chair, careful to give him space as she softly replied, “Felix, you’re drunk. Perhaps this should wait until morning.”

“No. Sylvain says I’m too much of a coward to just say it, but I’m no coward.”

 _Ah_. “Well, we can’t have Sylvain making a fool of you, now can we?” She thought she heard a staunched snicker in the hallway, but she couldn’t be completely sure with how loud Felix was breathing. Had he run up here? She doubted it with how tipsy he looked. Why was he breathing that quickly then?

She tilted her head to her fist and leaned her hip against the desk, earning a deeper flush from the ornery swordsman, which was… intriguing, to say the least. She gestured for him to continue, and he swallowed heavily before shaking the finger that was still pointed at her. “ _You_ ,” he started, emphasizing the word with a sort of vitriol she was accustomed to from the swordsman, “are like a disease.”

She felt the muscles in her face shift as one eyebrow traveled up her forehead. “A disease?”

“Yes,” he insisted, nodding his head before dropping his hand back to his side with an audible smack. “You showed up here with your stoic face,” the same hand that had previously been pointing quickly came back up to gesture vaguely toward her face, “and your sword skills, and you _infected_ me.”

Okay, now she was lost.

“Have my teachings been insufficient for you?” He’d certainly sought her out at every opportunity, and taken up as much of her free days as she would allow with extra rounds of sparring and lessons. He always attended when she held a seminar, even if it was on a skill he wasn’t actively working on. If anything, his fighting style was nearly identical to hers now, both of them acting as Mortal Savants on the battlefield.

“No,” he shook his head fervently, a bit too fervently if the slight stumble closer to her was any indication, “it’s not—” He cut off with a groan and ran a hand violently through his hair, pulling some from the bun he had it in for the evening.

She had always wondered what it looked like down.

His voice continued to slur as he began to rant, “It was so slow that I didn’t even notice it at first. You were just this… _capable woman,_ ” she was mildly impressed that he could make that sound like an insult, “who was a terror on the battlefield even when you look like… this.” He waved his hands erratically and she nodded slowly, still not quite sure where this was going.

“Is there something about my appearance that offends you, Fraldarius?” She couldn’t say she’d ever put much thought into it. Annette and Mercedes regularly fussed over her, evidenced by the simple grey dress she was wearing by their insistence—but she normally did whatever they wanted, just to cheer them up. Cheer was hard to come by these days. She was more than happy to wear a dress if it got a delighted squeal out of Annette and a tinkling giggle from Mercedes.

“You look like… like a cake,” he spat, “Like something sweet. With your bright eyes and your mint-green hair… But you’re not sweet.” He slammed his hand down on the desktop as he leaned forward, and she thought for a horrible moment that he might be sick all over her shoes. Puke was the worst to try and clean.

“I don’t like _sweet_ ,” he insisted, his eyes narrowed. She imagined he was trying to look serious, but it was offset by the fact that the pretty flush had spread to the tips of his ears, and by the fact that vermilion eyes were still slightly hazy from the drinks he’d had.

“I am aware of that, yes.” That would be the reason she always made Almyran Pine Needle tea—a rather bitter tea—when she invited him for tea times, and why she ordered spicier dishes when they dined together in the dining hall. 

Come to think of it… they hadn’t been doing either of those things very often since she’d woken up in the river. Every time she thought to invite him, he’d always said he was busy with something, or wanted to keep training. He was always training back during his Academy days, so she hadn’t really thought twice about it. But now… she wondered. Was Felix avoiding her?

He tripped on nothing again, stumbling closer to her. She kicked her chair to the side and then stepped back, allowing there to be more distance between them. Felix was one who liked his space. He didn’t like touch, juxtaposed to his supposed best friend, Sylvain, who never stopped touching. Felix always made a point to leave space between them unless they were sparring, and even then, he was quick to push her off or jump to his feet in order to put space between them as soon as they were finished with a bout.

His eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to concentrate, before he slurred, “I know you do. You notice everything. _Everyone_. You know what everyone likes, which doesn’t seem like it should be possible.” 

There had been a reason for it, of course. When she’d arrived, she had gotten the sense that some of the occupants of the monastery—students and faculty alike—were unnerved by her, as had been happening ever since she could remember. She knew her consistently neutral features were unnatural to most, so she didn’t blame them. Sothis had been the one who suggested that she write down facts she learned about people, in an attempt to memorize everyone’s likes and dislikes. 

She found that if she gave them the tea or the food they liked, they were less likely to shy away from her. If she gave them a pretty flower from the greenhouse, or an owl feather that she’d found while wandering the grounds, they smiled at her. They often let her know they liked it, or showed some other form of affection. She quickly realized it was an easy way of showing that she cared, even if she wasn’t always able to show it physically.

“I have a good memory,” she shrugged noncommittally. Felix huffed another annoyed breath and she bit back the urge to roll her eyes. “Are you done insulting me? If so, I think you should head to bed. I think you’ve had a bit too much tonight.”

“I wasn’t insulting you… I just wasn’t finished,” he hissed, leaning heavily onto one arm that he’d propped on her desk. “You… you infected me, and it just… got worse and worse the closer we got to graduation. And then… then you were _gone_.” His voice cracked on the last word, a rare showing of vulnerability from Felix. “You were gone, but you were still… still here.” He raised his free hand to grasp at his head like it was hurting him. “You had slithered your way into every part of… everything. I couldn’t swing a sword without thinking about _you_.”

 _Oh_.

He continued, picking up speed as he continued talking. “I couldn’t sleep, without dreaming of sparring with you again. I couldn’t eat, without remembering how you ate more than any person your size should be physically capable of. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let it go, because you had just…”

“Infected you?” she quietly supplied. Her chest felt warm as she finally realized what was happening. She felt heat rising in her own cheeks, but hoped that Felix would be too drunk to notice—or at least too drunk to remember come the morning.

“Infected me.” He nodded, staring at her through narrowed hazy eyes. It was oddly… cute. A word she wouldn’t normally associate with Felix, but cute all the same. “You’re like… some… infatuation plague… and now…”

“And now?”

“Now you’re here. But you… you’re acting archbishop, and you’re a commander of an army, and you’re trying to fix Fodlan, and trying to curb the boar’s bloodlust…” he groaned in exasperation, running his hands through his hair again. The tie was hanging by a thread, and her hands twitched at her sides with the desire to pull it free and run her hands through his hair.

 _Odd_.

After a moment of obvious indecision he snapped, “I just… You never look out for yourself because you insist on looking out for every other person!” 

She nodded slowly in effort to placate him. He was getting wound up, she could see it in the clench of his fists and the fact that his shoulders were nearly at his ears. “I will… try to take better care of myself?” The inflection of her voice made it sound like a question, and in a way, it sort of was. She wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear from her, but she could tell that something was bothering him.

“No!” he groaned, making a sound that was painfully close to a whine soon after. Then, without warning, he pushed forward pinning her against the shelves behind her, and grabbed her chin. His face was mere inches from her own, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Sparks tingled beneath her skin where his fingers held her.

“I’m saying I want to help you. I want to take care of you, you fool.” His face was bright red, telling her he wasn’t feeling nearly as stern as he probably wished his words would convey. He then groused, “Someone ought to.”

A breathless giggle bubbled from her chest, only becoming louder as Felix’s eyes blew wide in surprise. She couldn’t remember ever having giggled like this before, so she couldn’t really blame him for his reaction. “And what exactly does ‘taking care of me’ entail?” she prodded. She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know if it was what he wanted, so she kept her hands at her sides, allowing him to continue boxing her in.

His head dropped to the crook of her neck, and she could feel the heat in his face as it touched her skin. “Don’t tease me,” he mumbled. She was about to reach up and free the tantalizing hair tie when his head shot up and he glared at her. 

“If you don’t feel the same just tell me,” he demanded.

She did as she wished, freeing Felix’s hair. It tumbled down to his shoulders, and she brushed it out lightly with her fingers, relishing in the way it made Felix look an awful lot like one of the stray cats at the monastery when she would stop to pet them. It softened his features quite a bit. Perhaps that was the reason he always wore it up. “You’re drunk, I’m not sure if you’ll even remember this tomorrow.” She leaned up on her toes and moved slowly toward him, giving him time to move away if he wished. He didn’t, so she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

She pulled back a little and whispered, “I think I’d like to have you take care of me… But I’ll still be taking care of you. I won’t budge on that.”

A slow smile split his face in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him smile before. He laid his head back on her shoulder with a sleepy yawn. He mumbled into the skin of her neck, “We’ll be… partners.” He hummed contentedly, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Partners.” 

She brushed her hand through his hair as she nodded. “Partners.” 

_If you remember this in the morning, that is._

***

  
He woke up feeling awful. He had a splitting headache, and his body felt heavy. He inwardly cursed himself for drinking again. He knew that he didn’t handle liquor well. Stupid Sylvain had been adamant that he relax for once, and he drank a little if only to get the redhead to shut up. But then that idiot had brought up the Professor—Byleth—and his unconfirmed crush on their former teacher. He went on and on about how Felix didn’t have the guts to say anything, probably trying to goad him into at least fessing up to his infatuation with her. 

As the drinking went on, his thoughts continued to be centered around her. She had left the impromptu celebration, looking far more downcast than he had ever seen her. He remembered being worried about her, and he remembered wanting to make her feel better—even though that had never been something he was particularly good at.

He groaned outwardly at his own stupidity, startling when someone chuckled nearby. He cracked his eyes open and jolted to a sitting position when he realized he wasn’t in his room--the quick movement exacerbating his headache. He frantically looked around as he brought his hands to his aching head, quickly realizing he was in the Captain’s office—Byleth’s office.

“Good morning,” he whirled around as the Professor’s soft voice sounded out behind him, “Take this. I made you tea to help wash it down.” She walked around the couch he had apparently slept on to set a small tablet in front of him—he recognized it as something to help with pain—and he smelled Almyran Pine Needle tea coming from the cup she placed on the small table in front of him. She always made his favorite, a habit that he was rather fond of.

In a startling rush, the events of last night came back to him, and he flushed with embarrassment as he reached down to do as she had instructed. He cleared his throat heavily as he set his cup back on the saucer, looking anywhere but at her. 

_I AM GOING TO KILL SYLVAIN._

“I’m sorry I was such a fool last night. Thank you for the tea.” He stood up quickly and made for the door, desperate to escape with what little pride he had left. When she called his name, he couldn’t ignore it. He turned back, his hand still on the handle.

Without warning, she boxed him up against the door, effectively pinning him to the wood without even touching him. His heart raced as she tilted her head to the side and asked, “Is that all?” He cleared his throat again, looking up at the ceiling. However, his headache made that incredibly painful, as such, his eyes traveled back down, only to be pinned by hers. Her face was far too close. He could see the light dusting of freckles on her nose, the faint scar on her right eyebrow, and her long eyelashes that brushed her cheekbones as she blinked.

“I’m not sure—”

She moved even closer, so close he could feel the heat of her body, and asked, “Are you worried your _disease_ will worsen if we kiss?” The teasing gleam in her eye made his stomach flip, and his cheeks became hotter still with shame. Was she teasing him? The Ashen Demon? Teasing?

“Forget I said that,” he grunted, trying to get himself under control. Who confesses their feelings by comparing the object of their affections to a disease? Why was he like this? He was lucky she hadn't laughed him out of the room. This was probably even worse than their confrontation in the Goddess Tower the night of the ball. Thoughts of that night still made him wince. Those memories had haunted him for five years, and now, when he finally managed to confess his feelings, he'd compared her to a plague! What was wrong with him?

“I’d rather not,” she mused, leaning up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He froze, staring at her wide eyed as she pulled back. She smiled faintly as she whispered, “Partner.”

That's when he remembered... “We’ll _be… partners.”_

If she would take him, idiot that he was, he wasn't going to object. He surged forward, grabbing both sides of her face as he kissed her fervently. His heart felt like it might explode in his chest from how full it was and how fast it was beating. After several passionate kisses she pulled back to catch her breath, resting her head underneath his chin. He found he really enjoyed the way their bodies fit together as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Partners,” he whispered in confirmation. Smiling like a fool as he ran a hand through her hair. She hummed contentedly, and it was enough to make him consider not killing Sylvain. Maybe.


	2. Sylvain: She said yes?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit different from the standard drunken confessions, but there's drunkenness and confessions, so take it! :)

He was sparing with Felix when it happened. They were going back and forth with their usual banter—though banter is a strong word for his baiting of the ornery swordsman, and said ornery swordsman hissing insults back at him—when the Professor walked in. She was wearing her usual training clothes, her hair was pulled up in her usual messy ponytail, and her facial features were set in their usual neutrality.

“Professor!” He’d nailed down a sing song version of her title, and used the same one each time he greeted her. Her head slowly turned toward him as he blocked an incoming strike from Felix’s training blade. “You are looking lovely as ever. When are you going to go out for drinks with me? Hm? I’ll beg if you want me to!”

Felix clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he held him back with long sweeps of his lance, using the advantage he had with the longer weapon and longer reach. He winked over at the Professor, and she tilted her head minutely to the side as she shrugged and responded, “Sure. When?”

His brain must have stopped working or something, because he didn’t even raise his lance to attempt to block Felix’s next strike—which happened to smack him right across the face. Pressing the advantage of his shock and bewilderment, his asshole best friend then swept his legs out from under him, laying him out on his back with a very undignified yelp.

_She… she said yes?_

“Sylvain,” Felix groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You are going to get yourself killed if you don’t fucking pay attention to your opponent.”

Honestly, it didn’t even hurt yet. His brain was still focused on the fact that the Professor—the woman that he had asked out about a million times since she walked into the Blue Lions classroom her first day at the monastery—just agreed to go out with him. Was he dreaming? Is that what this was? Some sort of weird lucid dream?

And then she was hovering over him, her eyebrows furrowed in concern and a cute pout on her lips as she lightly pressed her fingers to his cheek. “Ow!” he protested, and her hand disappeared.

Fuck that hurt.

_Wait! That hurt! This isn’t a dream!_

“Come on. I’ll looked you over.” She smiled gently as she held out a hand, and he took it eagerly. With that strength that you wouldn’t expect from someone as tiny as she is, but she somehow possesses, she pulled him to his feet. She even went so far as to loop his arm over her shoulder and wrap her arm around his waist, pressing the side of her body against his as she assisted him to a bench on the side of the training grounds.

“He’s fine, Professor!” Felix whined, but in that Felix way of his. “Honestly, he should learn to pay attention.” 

She dismissively called over her shoulder, “Give me a few minutes and I’ll come and spar with you myself,” with her eyes still locked on his. The response pacified Felix instantly, as usually happened when he was offered additional sparring time with the Professor.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” he brushed it off, going so far as to wave his hand lazily through the air. Still, she tapped his knees to get him to open them so she could stand between them as she moved his face side to side while staring into his eyes. 

Maybe it was the blow to the head, but he was sorely tempted to wrap his arms around her legs and pull her down to kiss her. _Focus, Gautier._

“I want to make sure you aren’t concussed,” she stated in that even tone of hers. “Felix hit you pretty hard.”

“Ahhh,” he cooed, putting on a goofy grin, “Are you scared I’m going to miss out on our evening out together? I’ll be there, Professor, even if it kills me.” He said it in his usual flirty tone, but there was definitely a part of him that meant it.

“Funny.” She gave him an unamused look, but her eyes twinkled like they normally did when she was amused. “Besides, you haven’t even told me when we’re going.”

_Goddess… she actually meant it. She’s actually going to go out with me._

“Tonight?” _Shit. That was too overeager._

“Hey Marianne! Could I get some ice?” The blue-haired healer ran over and cast a spell into a linen cloth and handed it to the Professor, who held it in one hand as she lit the other with healing magic. The pleasant sensation of faith magic dulled the throbbing in his cheek, and when she took that hand away, she replaced it with the ice pack, holding it gently to his cheek.

He wondered if the fact that her free hand with cupping the other cheek was intentional or not.

She seemed lost in thought for a moment. He imagined she was going through her busy schedule in her head to see if she could pencil him in. “Sure. Tonight works. I’ll meet you at the gate at the dinner bell?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his cool. He was pretty sure the wiggle he did on the bench gave him away, though. “Cool. Tonight. Sounds… sounds good.”

“Hold this for me?” She nodded toward the ice pack. “You’re done for the day, but I recommend sitting a moment longer. I don’t want you getting dizzy.” As he replaced her hand with his, their hands brushed and a thrill went up his spine. Goddess, he was going to be a nervous wreck tonight, wasn’t he? “I better go,” she said as she slowly backed away, “otherwise Felix is going to start pouting.” Startled chuckles broke out through the training grounds, though his laughter was gleeful and unrestrained. 

“I do not pout!” Felix objected, crossing his arms defensively as he glared between them.

The Professor grabbed a training sword and got into a ready stance as she countered, “What would you call what you’re doing right now, then?”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Felix charged her, and they began their spar. Sylvain sat on that bench for a long time watching them, his mind still reeling with all that had just happened.

_She said yes?!_

It took him approximately an hour to spiral out of control. In fact, he didn’t even make it past the baths. He was in the middle of lathering his body when he placed the soap on the side of the tub, dropped his head to his hands, and groaned, “I’m gonna fuck this up.”

Felix snorted in amusement a few feet away and agreed, “Hell yeah, you are.”

He shot the raven-haired swordsman a sharp look before sarcastically commenting, “Thank you. Honestly, I have the most supportive friends. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” Felix just snickered in response, dipping his head below the water to begin washing his hair. “I’ve asked her out a million times. I never once thought she’d say yes!”

Felix shrugged. “Me neither.”

“Still not helping!”

“I don’t know why you’re talking to me about this,” Felix pointed out with a roll of his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be the one who was good at dating and all that stuff?”

He hadn’t been on a date in years. Sure, he still flirted all the time to keep up appearances, but his heart hadn’t been in it for… Well his heart hadn’t been in it ever. But he hadn’t really dated since the fall of the monastery five years ago. There was a war going on, and then Professor was gone, and Dimitri was supposedly executed, so there was other shit to handle. After coming back to the monastery to start fighting with his friends again, he just… hadn’t had the heart to actually go out with anyone.

Besides, the person that he wanted was completely unobtainable… or so he thought.

“This… this is different,” he breathed, sinking into the warm water and half-wishing he could just drown so he never had the opportunity to fuck things up with the Professor.

He was definitely going to fuck things up with the Professor.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” Felix mused. Freaking genius that one. “Think of it this way; if you screw it up, the entire monastery will know before dinner tomorrow.” 

“You’re such an asshole,” he whined. He covered his face with his hands and let out an aggravated groan.

“You’ll be fine. She wouldn’t have agreed if she didn’t want to go. Just don’t try to pretend. She’ll hate it if you do.” He supposed Felix would know. He and the Professor were a lot alike in some ways.

A point he was never going to consider, ever again.

“Yeah. I’m sure it will be fine.” He finished washing up, mentally repeating it to himself like a mantra. _“It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”_

He continued repeating it to himself even as he stood at the gate to the monastery, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand and fidgeting nervously. _“Okay, Gautier… get yourself together. You’ve been on a million dates. You can do this. You can totally do this. Were the flowers too much? It’s just drinks. The Professor likes flowers, right? She gives them to everyone else, so she totally likes them.”_

Melodic laughter drifted toward him and he glanced up to see Dorothea laughing, walking arm in arm with the Professor. She looked gorgeous in a short black skirt, with a white blouse and her loose jacket. She even had her hair done up, and a bit of make up. Goddess she was so beautiful. His eyes eagerly roamed her body, until he came up short as he notices she also had Hilda, Petra, and Caspar with her. 

_Fuck. This is a friend thing._

He threw the flowers to the side as quickly as he could, crossing his hands behind his head immediately after as the Professor looked over and smiled at him. “Hey! I brought some people with me. Is that okay?” She said it so sweetly, and she did that cute little head tilt thing she does and honestly he’s been freaking out under the assumption this was a date and it’s not anymore and AHHHH!

“Totally fine,” he chuckled, brushing off his dramatic inner dialogue. He even went so far as to drape his arm over Dorothea’s shoulders and croon, “The more lovely ladies, the better. Am I right?” The former songstress shot him a pointed look, and for a moment he thought maybe she was trying to convey something, but then she dropped it with a put-upon sigh.

“Ahhhh, Sylvain. Do try not to be too annoying this evening, won’t you?” She shot him that pointed look again, and looked toward the Professor, but he just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Come on!” Hilda whined, “I thought we were going to get drinks!” She huffed a pathetic little whine and then turned to Caspar with a saccharine grin. “Oh, Caspar! Won’t you carry me into town? I’d hate to get all sweaty before we get to spend time together. I’ve been waiting so long to hang out with you!” She dragged a finger down his bicep as she stepped closer, and the poor guy flushed bright red.

“Sure Hilda!” He pumped his fist in the air with a dopey grin. “It’ll be like extra strength training! Awesome!”

“You are just the sweetest!” the pinkette squealed, as she jumped up onto his back. “Mkay! Let’s go!”

They arrived and ordered their drinks, everyone talking amiably as the bar slowly became more and more crowded. The professor sat beside him with her legs crossed toward his in a way that was very distracting with the little skirt she had on with her usual patterned tights. She looked so happy surrounded by her friends, and she looked so much more relaxed than she normally did when she was running around the monastery. He couldn’t help but be glad that he got to be here, even if it wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He dropped his arm over the back of her chair and slowly took in the conversation, adding his own tidbits here and there, but mostly just listening and drinking.

He was still feeling a little sorry for himself, after all, so he might have had a bit more to drink than was wise under the circumstances.

His mind was pleasantly fuzzy when Hilda and Caspar stood to leave, the blue-haired brawler carrying a giggling Hilda bridal style with a boyish grin on his face. Dorothea placed her hand on Petra’s upper thigh and leaned in to whisper something to her once Hilda and Caspar left, and the foreign princess flushed as she took another drink. 

The two women didn’t last much longer after that, because Dorothea stood and with a clearing of her throat announced, “Pet and I are going to head back.” She wiggled her fingers in farewell and winked at the Professor as she crooned, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” The Professor rolled her eyes and waved in farewell before eventually turning to face him more fully.

“Did you want to go to?” he asked. His brain was still humming pleasantly, and his words might have been a little slurred. Or a lot slurred. He probably shouldn’t have had that many drinks, but he was nervous and bummed, so what the hell?

“I’m sorry,” she quietly said, dipping her head the slightest bit.

“Sorry?” What could she possibly be sorry for?

“I know you probably meant for this to be a date.” She said it softly, staring at him with those big green eyes. Suddenly she looked down as a pretty flush rose in her cheeks, deeper than the one she already had from the drinks. “I got sort of… scared… after I—”

“Scared?” He was reeling, or maybe he was just drunk. Was she really so cautious around him that she was scared to have drinks? Was all of this just to get him off her back? To get him to stop asking her out? Was she afraid of him? The Ashen Demon? The one who wields the Sword of the Creator? The one blessed by the goddess? The one who can cut down a demonic beast single-handedly?

“Perhaps nervous would be a more suitable word,” she amended, biting at her lower lip. “I’m just… I’m not good at this, and you are… well… you… and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, so I thought if I invited people that it would be less awkward. I’m just… I’m the Ashen Demon, not one of your—"

He busted out laughing before she could finish, with a near hysterical edge to his laughter. He bent over on the table, trying to regain his breath, but instead he continued to dissolve into helpless laughter. She was nervous about making a fool of herself? The Professor? Was she serious?

He finally regained himself after a bit of trouble—he blamed the alcohol—and looked up, only to find the Professor half way to the door. “Wait!” He stumbled to his feet, tripping on the chair that she was sitting in prior to her escape and nearly falling on his face. “Wait! Byleth!” She didn’t wait. She fled without a glance and he weaved through the other patrons of the tavern until he eventually made it outside.

“Wait!” He managed to catch up to her, solely because he had a much longer stride, and caught her arm.

He realized how serious she was when he turned her around and she looked visibly upset. He cupped both sides of her face without thinking as he frantically explained, “I wasn’t laughing at you! I was laughing at me! I’ve been so nervous all day because I’ve wanted this for years, but I never in a million lifetimes thought that you would ever say yes! I’ve never been this nervous for a date, and I was so worried that I was going to fuck everything up because you’re this beautiful, amazing woman and I’m this screw up that can never do anything right, so why on earth would you want me? Ya know? And—”

He was forced to shut up when she got up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a barely there kiss. His brain broke again as they stared at one another for a tension-filled moment, and he was still wondering if this was truly happening when he surged forward, desperate for more. It wasn’t long until he had her pressed up against the wall in the alleyway between two buildings as he kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone before. Her hands were tangled in his hair as his explored her body in the way he’d always dreamed of, and GODDESS he was going to die, but it was totally going to be worth it.

She pulled away after a moment, and they stared at each other again, both of them panting as they tried to take in gulps of fresh air. Then, his normally stoic professor burst out giggling. He stared in wonder as she hid her face in his shirt and dissolved into girlish giggles that he never in his life thought he would ever hear from her.

She pulled back, still giggling as she stammered, “I think… I think I’m drunk.” He started to panic, thinking that the last few minutes were just a drunken whim, but she pulled him down into another kiss and murmured against his lips, “Take me home?”

He kissed her again, praying it wouldn’t be the last, but making it count in case it was. Then he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “yes, I’m sure.”

He woke early the next morning to find himself in Byleth’s room, with the woman in question tucked against his chest, still wearing the clothes they’d gone down to the tavern in. Never in his life had he stayed over at a woman’s place, especially after not even having sex.

He stared down at her in a daze, like all of this might be a dream, until she slowly opened her eyes with a giant yawn. Her eyes widened minutely in surprise, and he took it as his cue to leave. He felt heat in his cheeks as he rolled away from her, already searching actively for his shoes. What should he say? Should he apologize? Pretend nothing happened? Just go on with life as normal?

Goddess… could he go on with life as normal?

Suddenly she grabbed his arm and pulled him down with that strength of hers and a call of, “Where do you think you’re going?” She rolled on top of him, and began kissing him deeply, and it was all so unexpected that it took him a moment to catch up. After several minutes of rolling around together, kissing and touching, she pulled away and whispered, “Good morning.”

He chuckled breathlessly as he brushed some teal hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, admiring her features in the early morning light. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if last night was just you being drunk or not.”

“Oh, I was drunk,” she groaned, scrunching her eyes up like she might have a headache. He planted a kiss on her forehead and she smiled. Not a little thing, a big breathtaking smile that made his stomach flutter. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t what I wanted to do, though.”

“Are you… are you sure? You know what people will think of you. And… you’re too important, too special for that. I’d hate it if—” She cut him off with a kiss again, something that he really wouldn’t mind becoming a regular thing. 

They rested their foreheads together and he quietly whispered, “I don’t… I really don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I doubt you remember this, but the night of the ball, you told me that you wanted to be a man I could trust…”

“Of course, I remember that.” Goddess, he’d thought about that conversation a million times during the five years she was gone, presumed dead. He ached with the fact that he didn’t have the chance to prove himself to her.

“Well… I trust you.” She pressed a kiss to his lips as his breath stuttered in his chest. It was an honor he knew he wasn’t worthy of, but he knew he’d work as hard as he possibly could until he felt worthy of it.

“I should probably go,” he nervously chuckled. “If people catch me leaving here, they’ll make assumptions.”

Byleth kissed him tenderly, so tenderly it made his heart ache. “Let them,” she shrugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do my Blue Lions boys first because I'm a hoe for them. I'm already working on the next one, which I hope to have posted soon. Thanks for reading, and as always, comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> Also... RIP those poor flowers.


	3. Claude: A Show of Trust

He was looking forward to the next two weeks at Riegan Mansion with Teach. Staying here by themselves, without the rest of the Golden Deer—honorary and original alike—taking up her free time was such an intriguing opportunity. Not that he wasn’t going to busy in his own right, especially here. There were many duties he had pushed onto Nader when he’d run away to the monastery, convinced that he would find his dear friend alive and well. He had, and planning an entire war with only your wits and your “Goddess Blessed” professor was no simple task, but they were doing it.

Now they had to convince the Roundtable of that very fact. He hoped that with Teach at his side, it would be possible. (It certainly helped that some of the other Deer had parents at the Roundtable, who could help to sway things their way, as well.) He felt terrible for using Teach’s “Goddess blessed” status—a title thrust upon her as much as the acting Archbishop role. He knew she wasn’t fond of all of these political aspects, but the fact that she was willing to stand by his side anyway meant the world to him.

And he hoped that he would have enough time over the next two weeks to show her that she wasn’t only here for business.   
  
“Guess what I brought with me from over the Throat?” Nader winked over at him as he pulled a bottle that had been concealed behind a stack of books on his bookshelf. The label had been torn off, but he didn’t need it to know what was in that bottle.

“You know I don’t drink, _Nardel_.” He put emphasis on his supposed retainers name—because, seriously? What was he thinking bringing Almyran spiced ale over the Throat and giving it to him? Besides, it was true he didn’t drink. After a lifetime of having to watch his own back, never knowing where the next threat would come from, the dulled senses that came along with intoxication felt like signing his own death sentence.

“I bet your _friend_ ,” Nader tacked a wicked wink on with the drawled word, “would enjoy it. Maybe you could drink it together? It might help you gain a little liquid courage?”

“And what do I need liquid courage for?” Nardel laughed, amused and cocky as he opened his mouth with what was probably a witty response, but he cut the older man off with a sharp glance and quickly tacked on, “Don’t answer that.”

“Come on, kiddo.” It should be weird to think that a man who would go around calling himself Nader the Undefeated would whine like he just did, but then again, he had grown up under the man’s tutelage. Nothing surprised him anymore. “You pined after this woman for five years, writing your mother endlessly to tell her that she’s alive, she’s out there and you’re going to find her. Now you’ve finally found her, but you still haven’t made a move?” A deep chuckle preceded, “Your mother didn’t raise you to be a coward.”

“She didn’t raise a _coward_ ,” he indignantly countered, stretching his arms above his head and wincing at the pops in his joints and the tension in his shoulders from sitting at his desk all day. “She raised me to think of the best tactical way to achieve my goals. Teach is…” he trailed off, looking out the window towards the stars twinkling in the heavens. “Teach may be vital to my plans, but she is also one of the only people I trust in this world. As you may recall, I don’t come by that easily.”

“Excuses, kiddo. That’s all I’m hearing from you.” Nader dropped a hand on his shoulder and he turned to glance at him, finding a smarmy grin that bore news of trouble. “If you don’t make a move, I just might. She’s a fighter, that one, and she’s got grit. She’d be much more fun than most of these uptight nobles.”

“Oh, but what would Judith think?!” He put a hand to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes, relishing in the victorious rebuttal when Nader rolled his eyes with a sheepish grin on his face.

“The liquid courage is yours if you want it,” Nader called, and then left the room, locking the door behind him.

He walked over to the bottle, pulled the cork and took a whiff of the heavily spiced scent. Images of the castle in Almyra immediately came to mind—of bright fires, dancing, and singing. The faces of some of those that used to sneer at him also came to mind, as was the dual edged sword of things that reminded him of Almyra. He placed the cork firmly in its place and looked into the bottle, swirling the liquid a bit to watch the light of the candle dance within.

Perhaps his friend would like some.

He heard the special coded knock that he’d taught her, and knew she had arrived. He made his way to the door, and cracked it open to triple-check before throwing it open with a flourish. “Hey Teach,” he grinned, letting her pass before locking it behind her. He’d invited her to his quarters after most everyone had gone to bed.

 _Scandalous_.

He knew that Teach was good enough to get in and out without being spotted. Her stealth training was not to be underestimated, a fact that he greatly admired. He pulled off the last cumbersome layer of his attire, leaving him in an undershirt and a looser pair of pants. Far more comfortable. It seemed Teach had also dressed according to the hour, wearing a far too large shirt with a pair of shorts that could barely be seen beneath. It was less revealing than her usual attire, but something about it did something to him. Perhaps it was the domesticity of her being in her sleep clothes in his rooms.

Whatever it was, he shook the thoughts away as he pulled out what he’d brought her here for. 

He watched as she settled her blade against the side table—within easy reach if it was necessary. Her eyes were carefully taking in her surroundings, delaying for a fraction of a moment on each access point to the room. Pale green eyes snapped back to his when he began, “I have a present for you. I was gifted this, and wanted to know what you thought.” 

He’d done the same with Almyran Pine Needle tea, and introducing her to wyvern riding. They were pieces of his heritage—watered down to suit a Fodlan palate and mindset, but pieces of him all the same. There was an apprehension with everything he offered— _Here is a piece of me, a piece of where I come from… can you accept it? Can you accept me?_ —which was silly, because she didn’t even know what she was being offered. However, her reactions were always important to him, and so far she’d been open-minded, just as she always was. 

He poured her a glass and handed it to her, and of course the first thing she did was sniff it. He allowed himself to chuckle when she took too heavy of a whiff and instinctively moved her head back. She looked up at him, her gaze fond, and took a sip. “My father used to love this stuff.” Her lips twisted down into the slightest frown as she looked down into the glass. Her father was still a sensitive topic, given the fact that his death only felt like a few months ago for her, even if it was over five years ago for him. That day had haunted him ever since. The feeling that he’d let her down, when she never failed to be there when he needed her weighed heavy on his chest most nights. It was the same feeling when Alois had told them the terrible news… that she was gone. No one had found a body, but some reported that they’d seen her fall. 

His hand clenched at the memory before he released a heavy exhale and moved back toward the table that bore the bottle of Almyran ale. “I’d like to drink with you, my friend.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow, her eyes trained on his as he poured a little into a separate glass.

“Are you sure?” Her voice was gentle, soothing. He closed his eyes and let the question and the feeling it brought, wash over him. It was the slightest moment, before he plastered on his usual smile. He knew he was safe with her—that was the reason he wanted to do this in the first place.

“Surprised?” he asked, his voice coy as he took a tentative sip.

“I’ve never seen you take a sip of anything alcoholic. I had a theory…” she paused, pursing her lips the slightest bit as she crossed her legs beneath her. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to, solely for my sake.”

He hummed thoughtfully, making sure that he smiled the slightest bit so she knew she hadn’t upset him. Of course, she would understand. “After all of the attempts on my life, I cling to my senses. Drunkenness may suit others, but I have always felt it was a luxury I couldn’t afford.” He picked up the bottle and brought it with him as he tentatively moved closer to where she sat on the couch. Touch had been a boundary they hadn’t passed quite yet. He yearned for it, but knew that once he got a taste…

Well, he didn’t know where it would leave him. 

He sat beside her, drinking more. Pale green eyes analyzed him with an undertone of tenderness as she nodded. Listening. Waiting. “I find that I don’t worry as much when I’m with you, my friend.” She shifted then, and insecurity flared when it seemed she was moving away, but instead she rested her back against the arm of the couch, and her feet moved ever closer to his leg as she faced him (and the door) completely. Something inside him settled then, and he looped an arm over the back of her couch, toward her.

It felt like a dance he didn’t know the moves to, but he had long ago decided to follow her lead. Every inch she took, he took his own. He anticipated the day they met in the middle, just as much as the idea terrified him. He had dreams to pursue. It would only be harder if he became too entrenched in this dance of theirs, but her melody was too beautiful for him to resist.

“It certainly helps that you can no longer get drunk,” he added, chuckling into his glass when she rolled her eyes. It would keep her sharp, even if he was not. It had been an interesting part of her change after the Sealed Forest. But, thinking about that would take him away from his objective.

He wanted to spend time with _her_ , not her mysteries.

Slowly, warmth spread through his extremities, and his brain settled into a lower level of function, as evidenced by the fact that his thoughts were far less jumbled than usual. Most days it felt as if he had thousands of thoughts in his mind, all vying for his attention. It was the cause of many sleepless nights, and many headache-filled days. Now his mind was calmer—or rather hazier.

Perhaps he had taken this a bit too far. 

As if reading his thoughts, Teach reached over for the bottle, took a last pour for herself, and settled the bottle on the table behind her. Their gazes met, and that yearning stirred. It was happening more and more with each passing day he spent around her, but he told himself it was especially strong at the moment due to the drinking. Alcohol lessens your inhibitions, lowers your defenses—both things that would normally terrify him, but they felt almost exhilarating with Teach.

With Byleth.

Her gaze flitted down right as her legs moved, lifting to settle gently on his lap. Her gaze raised to meet his own again, a silent request of permission to take another inch, to add another step in their dance. He answered by setting his hands on her legs, closing his eyes and laying his head back on the back of the couch as he gently glided his fingers along the smooth skin of her legs.

He found scars there, just as he imagined he would find scars on most parts of her body. They were tales of countless battles fought and survived. He had some of his own, though not nearly as many due to the differences in their fighting styles. Teach was always in the thick of things, while he kept an eye on things from the sky. He traced each scar he found, mapping them out in his mind. Eventually, he followed one to the back of her left knee, and his eyes snapped open with her sharp intake of breath. It shuddered on the way out, the waver easily heard in their comfortable silence… and then everything was yearning.

His brain practically swam with it. Liquid courage, indeed.

“Byleth…” It was the first time he’d ever used her proper name outside of his own mind, and his voice sounded different when it spilled from his tongue. He raised his head to look at her, and found pale green eyes already watching him. She swallowed heavily, and he noticed her glass was held with white knuckles. 

He took it from her hand, the barest graze of skin lighting up his mind, sending sparks showering like a sky of shooting stars across his skin. He leaned over, closer to her ( _oh, so very close_ ) and placed it on the table behind her. The soft ‘ _thud_ ’ seemed to echo in the room, accompanied by the sound of Byleth’s slightly hastened breathing next to his ear.

Moving back to his original position brought him to the edge of a precipice. Faintly the still rational part of his mind told him that this was an important decision, however every other part of his mind felt a change in Byleth’s tempo, and wanted to follow. Their faces were so close, and the look in her eyes sank straight to the core of him.

His words came out in a whisper, quieted by the vulnerability of the moment. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this. All that I do know is that I want you. I can’t picture my future without you. I can’t imagine fulfilling my dreams without you by my side, in step with me,” he tentatively reached down to take her hand, “forever.” He placed a kiss to her palm, watching pale green eyes follow every movement as he did so. “You are a miracle, my Miracle. The one I believe in, the one I trust, the one I’ve waited for, for so very long. There will be more waiting, but…” Her eyes darted down to his lips, cutting off his train of thought.

“My Miracle, my Star,” he leaned forward, making it so there was the barest space between their lips, “Can I… can I kiss you?”

Byleth. His Teach. His Professor. The infamous Ashen Demon. On the battlefield she was quick and precise, hardly seen as she flitted between her foes. Here, though, it seemed she was willing to take her time. Their gazes remained locked as she lifted a hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He had to resist the temptation to let his eyelids slip shut as her fingers nestled in the hair at his nape, sending a shiver down his spine.

Every nerve of his body seemed to be lit up in anticipation, but he knew she was watching, evaluating. What she was looking for he didn’t quite know, so he allowed himself to be pliable in this moment and wait, no matter how much anticipation was wound up in the pit of his stomach.

She moved her head, brushing a kiss against his temple. “I’ll confess…” she murmured across his skin, “I worry about whether this is you, or the Almyran spiced ale.” From someone else, he might think they were being cheeky, but he knew Byleth. When she pulled back, there was a real vulnerability there in those pale green eyes.

He reached up to cup her cheek, propping his weight on his other elbow, and replied, “I wouldn’t have taken a sip of that ale if I didn’t mean every word. But… you know that, my Star.”

The first press of her lips on his own felt like falling off that precipice, all anticipation with the slightest sliver of fear. The second was deeper, and it felt like the moment when his wyvern’s wing unfurled. He felt like his heart had taken flight, as he so often wished to. The sense of safety, of excitement, of joy, that he felt in this moment—all of it spurned him on, yearning for more.

So much was uncertain about their future. They had a war to win and a peaceful future to build. However, he did know one thing as their kisses became more fervent and their touches became exploratory—he knew that he would be continuing this dance with Byleth for the rest of his life, whatever may come their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit that I couldn't decide which Claude I wanted to write. I have two in my head, one that's fun and flirty because he's gorgeous, but the second is much more guarded and careful. However, I went with this one because I loved the idea of the drunkenness being a show of vulnerability and trust. 
> 
> You were left with this. I hope you enjoyed it! :)


	4. Hubert: Personal Matters

“Would you say your loyalty to me is absolute?” Lady Edelgard’s question was spoken sternly as they continued their trek toward the dining hall. A small celebration was being held, and Lady Edelgard had _insisted_ that they attend, rather than taking care of the various other important matters that rattled in the corners of his mind.

All for Lady Edelgard.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” There was no hesitation in his answer as he walked dutifully at her side, surveying their surroundings on instinct. They were supposedly safe at the monastery, but he knew the threats that still remained, and he could not allow anything to happen to his liege.

She cast him the barest glance before turning back to give due attention to the path that they tread. “Would you say you would follow my every order?”

He didn’t panic, in so much that he firmly crossed his arms behind his back and instantaneously went over every direct order that he had disobeyed in the last five years to try and consider which instance she could have possibly become privy to. It was no surprise that this would happen so soon after his confrontation with Ferdinand—that ginger-haired buffoon. Perhaps he had gone to his Lady in secret, spitting lies about how he was an insufficient aide for Her Majesty.

“Everything I do, I do for your sake, Lady Edelgard.” 

“Hm.” She dispelled a disgruntled noise as the doors to the dining hall were opened for them, and he dutifully followed her as she made her way to the refreshments—currently being discreetly watched by one of his most trusted hands. (It would not due to have Lady Edelgard’s refreshments tampered with.)

She thrust a drink into his hand, and he took it willingly, believing that he was holding it for her. He did not partake in beverages that would dull his senses, only those that heightened them, such as his— _maybe the slightest bit unhealthy_ —coffee consumption. “Take this,” she ordered, the tone of her voice leaving no room to question whether it was just that, “and take the rest of the evening off from your duties.”

“Lady Edelgard—” He silenced himself at the sight of her raised hand.

“I won’t hear another word of this tonight. I am taking the evening to tend to some _personal matters_ ,” he had an inclination of what she was speaking of as a certain brunette songstress sidled toward them, “and such matters cannot be properly tended to if you are hovering.” Warmth rushed to his cheeks as he cleared his throat into his fist.

“My Lady—”

“I order you to take a night of leisure.” Lavender eyes flickered to the other end of the room, where the Professor stood, elegantly propped against the wall, speaking with Linhardt and Caspar. Her eyes then settled back on him as she reached out to rest a hand on his forearm. “It might help you to relax if you partake of the refreshments.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

She made a noise of affront, covered by her hand. “You think me the type to order you to drunkenness? No, it was the suggestion of a dear friend, for I consider you such. The matter that I should not be disturbed until morning, however, _is_ an order.”

He bowed, carefully balancing the drink in his hand so as not to spill it, and uttered, “By your order, Lady Edelgard.”

When he had returned to standing upright, Dorothea had threaded her arm through Her Majesty’s and was whispering something in her ear. The barest dusting of pink colored her cheeks as Lady Edelgard nodded and they immediately walked out the door.

Leaving him alone.

At a celebration.

His nose wrinkled in distaste as he moved to take up a post at the other end of the room. From here he could see every inch of the room, and as such could keep his eye out for trouble. He knew that Lady Edelgard had ordered him to take a night of leisure, but he could not bear to sit idle. He considered the fact that he could return to his quarters and get some of the many vital documents resting upon his desk taken care of, but he told himself that surveying the moral of their troops was also vital to the war effort. He did not need to partake in such festivities to ensure that the efforts Lady Edelgard was ordering were, in fact, working.

His eyes again found their way to the Professor, who was now speaking with Lysithea. His eyes had a habit of doing that of their own accord as of late, most likely due to the troublesome manner of the… _feelings_ … that he’d found himself _afflicted_ by after her fall into the ravine the day of their successful capture of the monastery. Try as he might, he had been unable to rid his subconscious mind of thoughts of her during her supposed five-year sleep. He’d dreamt of her whenever he deigned to sleep long enough to dream, and found himself missing her in moments of idleness—no matter how rare those moments were.

The affliction was made worse by her return—looking like she’d stepped through the flow of time itself. She had not changed in the slightest while she slept, and he found himself affected even more at her proximate. 

As if she could sense the weight of his gaze—for perhaps she truly could, even though his mind told him it was improbable—pale green eyes tracked his, pinning him in place. Try as he might, he could not tear his gaze away. In an effort to busy his hands, he brought the drink in his hand to his lips, taking a sip of the liquor it contained. The burn in his throat broke whatever trance she had put him under, and he turned his head away, checking the entrances to the building.

The warmth that spread in his chest and extremities as he took another sip of the drink could almost be considered pleasant, and as he continued surveying the room, he found himself finishing off the glass in his hand. In effort to appear as if he was partaking in the festivities, even if he was only here to watch out for his comrades and make sure they were not conducting themselves in a way that would reflect poorly on Lady Edelgard, he took up another drink.

By the end of the second, an indistinct haze had settled at the corners of his mind, and alarm bells began to ring. He stared at his empty glass and pondered how he could possibly be affected this much by the small portions that he had consumed. As if in answer to an unspoken query, his stomach gurgled, and he remembered the fact that he had failed to eat earlier today. 

Of course, his terrible eating habits would come back to haunt him at a moment such as this.

As he was glancing toward the table that bore the rations of food that others were partaking of, his eyes landed on the Professor, walking out of the dining hall. Something in his mind took interest, and whether it was the slight inebriation, or the idleness of not having to be at Lady Edelgard’s beck and call, he decided to give into the urge to follow her.

To watch her.

For Lady Edelgard, of course.

He slipped out the opposite door soundlessly, surveying the area quickly before noticing her making her way toward either her room or the training grounds—for he knew that those were the only two possibilities of where she would go at such an hour.

He weaved through the hedges as stealthily as he could muster, watching as she leisurely made her way down the path without a care in the world. The initial issue presented itself when they reached the set of stairs that lead to the second set of dormitories. Following her up the stairs would surely draw attention to himself, so he would have to come up with another plan of action.

When he was certain that she was far enough ahead, he warped himself behind the next hedge, only to rather suddenly find himself pressed against the wall with a dagger to his throat.

 _Exquisite_ , was the word that came to mind as the Professor looked him over with her usual neutral features.

She sternly said, “I thought we had moved past this, Hubert.”

“Whatever could you be speaking of?”

The dagger pressed lightly into his skin, the perfect pressure to where he could feel it digging in without the steel leaving a mark. Truly she was masterful with her techniques. “Coyness doesn’t suit you,” she observed, looking almost disinterested. “Why are you following me?”

“I could ask myself the very same question,” he admitted, feeling warmth spread to his cheeks. Perhaps it was the drink he had consumed, or the way she had to press herself against him in order to obtain the leverage necessary to pin his much taller stature, but he felt unusual warm.

She responded with a low hum in the back of her throat, and the press of the blade lessened. In one quick movement, she sheathed the dagger, but did not lessen the pressure she had placed on him as she efficiently pinned him to the wall.

 _Magnificent_.

Even more warmth rushed to his cheeks and the tips of his ears when her eyes widened ever so slightly as they came to rest on his own. 

Had he just said that aloud? 

“Where is Edelgard?”

“ _Lady_ Edelgard,” he corrected her, mentally balking when he realized it slurred, as if stumbling off his tongue, “has taken leave for the evening to take care of… personal matters.”

Of the responses he was expecting, he wasn’t sure a quiet snort of amusement was one he was prepared for. He watched as a slow smile formed on her lips before she whispered, “Good for her.” Voices sounded nearby, and the pressure of her form against his own increased as she placed a hand over his mouth as if to silence him.

Every nerve in his body tingled as though he’d been struck by multiple Thunder spells that had been lessened for training purposes—the tingle extending through every inch of his body that was touching hers. His inhale came in too sharply, and she noticed.

Of course, she noticed. Her senses were as attuned to her surroundings as his own were… under normal circumstances.

Their eyes met, and even with their somewhat… _precarious situation_ … he couldn’t fight the feeling of trust that overwhelmed him. Absurd. They were hardly in danger of anything aside from perhaps being discovered in an indelicate position, but the feeling remained.

He would trust her with his life. He knew he would, for he had. She was a masterful tactician, an indomitable warrior, and she had the pesky ability to inspire trust in all those she came across—including himself. That someone like her should exist should be an improbability, and the fact that Lady Edelgard and himself were fortunate enough to have her by their sides again was turning the tides of the very war they were waging.

He was lost in pale green eyes as the voices grew louder and louder, before eventually fading as the people inevitably passed their meager hiding spot. When they were gone, the hand against his mouth dropped, though it didn’t go far. It pressed into his chest, over his erratically beating heartbeat.

“Hubert…” The sound of his name passing through her lips was far more melodic than any song. He pushed the thought away, chastising himself for sounding like Ferdinand when he dared waxed poetic.

Words spilled from his lips without prompting. “I’ve already dedicated my life to Lady Edelgard, to throw my lot in with you is inconceivable,” he blurted, the warmth in his cheeks burning to the point where he pondered the possibility of his cheeks melting away. “But if I had two lives to give…” he hesitated before finishing, “I might devote one of them to you.”

She appeared unperturbed by his confession, without so much as a twitch in her facial muscles. Though, of course there wouldn’t be. Nothing he had ever attempted had surprised or rattled this exquisite being pressed against him, why would he expect his own displaced affections to affect her thusly?

“You say that as if I haven’t also devoted myself to Edelgard and her ambition,” she mused. Her eyebrow rose the barest fraction as if in challenge, though he couldn’t fathom what exactly she would be challenging him on. Her loyalty? Her resolve? 

He breathed, “A couplet of birds, flying alongside the sovereign of Black Eagles…” He wasn’t sure when his arms had traveled, resting themselves around her slender waist, but he instinctively pulled her ever closer, lost in the pleasant warmth that was his mind at the present moment.

The pressure against him moved as she stretched up onto her toes and reached around to cup the back of his neck, dragging him down to her level so she might press her lips against his own. A nearly animalistic sound escaped his throat as her fingers traveled up to his nape and gave a gentle tug to pull him away from the thoroughly unexpected kiss. His body cried out for more as soon as they parted, and he found he felt an unusual thrill when her fingers were fisted in his hair.

“I have some personal matters I wish to tend to in my quarters,” she stated, her face still neutral. “It seems Edelgard has no need of you for the evening… Would you care to assist me?”

“Me?” His voice cracked over the simple word, and she let out a heavy exhale that could almost be considered a laugh.

“You,” she affirmed with a curt nod. With a level of grace that he could never possess, she pushed off the wall on either side of him and turned on her heel, making her way—presumably—to her quarters. He dumbly watched her go, his heart racing in his chest and a foreign heat coiling in his stomach. She stopped a few yards from him and glanced over her shoulder toward him, and he found that he regained use of his limbs.

He—rather ungracefully—stumbled out from behind the hedge, straightened his coat with a clearing his throat, and followed along after her. As she opened the door to her quarters and allowed him entrance, he looked to her. His voice quavered with _something_ as he stated, “It would be an honor to assist you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry... I struggle to see Hubert as anything but a terribly awkward, goth simp. Hopefully I still did him a bit of justice.


	5. Caspar: Who's dreamy?

“Hello? Earth to Caspar.” Linhardt’s slender hand waved in front of his face, and he quickly swiveled his head over to where his best friend sat on his right, looking really bored. That was normal though, Lin always looked like that.

“What’s up?” he asked, taking another gulp of his drink. They were in the middle of what was supposed to be a celebration, though spirits weren’t super high. They had just taken the Bridge of Myrddin, and unfortunately it came with heavy losses. Luckily, Ferdinand was spared, and was probably “locked up” somewhere until the Professor and Seteth could make sure he was actually on their side again. Not that they put him in the cells in the monastery’s prison or anything, last he heard they had him under guard in his old quarters.

It had to be the comfiest prison _ever_! Though, it’d certainly be boring. He’d probably go crazy. Maybe he should go and check on him, make sure everything’s alright. The Professor would probably appreciate it if he did. Maybe she’d even invite him to train with her again! She looked so pretty tonight, over there talking to Felix with that little half smile of hers…

“Are you done?” Linhardt drawled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, leave him be, Lin,” Dorothea cooed as she sat down at his left. “You can hardly blame him. She is rather dreamy.”

“He’s drooling,” Linhardt droned, propping his cheek in his hand with a put-upon sigh.

Okay. He was lost. “Wait… Who’s dreamy?”

“Why, the Professor, of course,” Lin sighed. “You know, the woman you are currently drooling over?” 

He matched Linhardt’s pose, but continued to stare as the Professor made her way toward Leonie, who was waving her over to where she stood near Lysithea and Hilda. “She’s just so strong, Lin. And she’s so nice to everybody, and she’s got that little head tilt thing she does…” He released a heavy sigh, and Dorothea giggled into her fist. 

She cooed, “Oh my, he _does_ have it bad.”

He turned his head so quickly the room spun a bit. “Have what bad?” Linhardt heaved another put-upon sigh and his forehead hit the wood of the table with a dull thud. “You need me to carry you back to your room, Lin? Are you tired?”

His words were a bit muffled as he replied, “Carry me? With how intoxicated you are? Not likely. I don’t feel like being dropped tonight.”

“I’m not into—” the rest of the word wouldn’t seem to come out of his mouth. His tongue wasn’t exactly cooperating. “I only had a little bit!” Linhardt huffed a heavy breath as Dorothea giggled again. “And what do I have? What’s bad?”

“By the way you were staring, I was assuming you have feelings for the Professor,” Dorothea explained. She spoke slowly, and she kept glancing over to the Professor like she was scared she could hear them talking or something. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she could. She always seemed to know everything, anyway—where she needed to be on the battlefield, everybody’s favorite food, what to say to make people feel better.

“Well, of course I do! She’s awesome!” He paused as he looked to each of his friends. “Isn’t she?” Linhardt lifted his head and let it thud against the table again. Man, he must be super tired if he has to wake himself up like that. You’d think it would hurt his forehead.

Dorothea sighed before grabbing the cup from his hand, which he was in the process of trying to take another drink from. He objected, “Hey! I was drinking that!”

“I think you’ve had enough, Caspar.” She set it to the side and stared at him all intense-like as she asked, “Do you have feelings for the Professor?”

“Feelings? Haven’t you been listening? She’s strong, and she’s nice, and she does the head tilt thing that—” He stopped talking, causing Dorothea to nod her head enthusiastically. 

Her voice got all low and purr-y like when she’s teasing him. “Are you interested in her? You know, interested interested?”

There was a crash somewhere to his right, and all three of them looked over to see that one of the knights that had recently joined with them after the fight at the bridge had been punched, and he had fallen onto a table. One of the soldiers from their forces was standing over him, yelling at him. 

He stood up quickly and called, “I’ve got this!”

Lin grabbed his arm and said, “That is an _awful_ idea.”

“Nah! It’ll be totally fine!” He scrambled off the bench and ran over, but he was having a bit of trouble running in a straight line. “HEY! You! Stop right there!” He ran up to grab the instigator’s arm, only to have the guy turn on him. He tried to duck out of the way of the swing of his fist, but he must have had a bit too much to drink because his reflexes were a bit too slow. The guy hit him square in the face with enough force to knock him to the ground.

He put a hand to his throbbing eye, and glanced up in time to see a blur of mint green as the Professor called out, “Do we have a problem here?” The guy must not have realized who she was, because he swung at her, too. She blocked it with her forearm and the guys eyes blew wide as she threw a punch right back at him, punching his lights out. She shook out her fist as she grumbled, “Sleep it off.” And then she squatted down beside him and did that cute head tilt thing she does. 

Wait, cute? Did he think the Professor was _cute_?!

She lightly pressed her hands to his head and asked, “Are you okay?”

“You’re cute!” It came out slurred, and super loud for some reason.

Her mouth quirked up with a smile as she reached out a hand. “Come on, let’s get you looked over.” 

“’M fine,” he drawled, but then he tried to sit up and the room was spinning far too fast. The Professor pulled him to his feet and he leaned heavily against her as she walked out of the dining hall, and into the dark courtyard. For someone so small, she was super strong.

“You’re suuuper strong!” Again, it slurred, and again it came out super loud. The Professor huffed a quiet little laugh as she pulled him closer with the arm she had around his waist, and his stomach went all fluttery.

She asked, “Do you always give compliments like this when you are drunk and have just lost a fight?” And if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was teasing him!

“I didn’t lose!” he whined. “I mean… why’d he hafta hit me so hard? I was just trying to stop the fight, that’s all!”

She thoughtfully hummed, “I suppose it wouldn’t do much to ask you not to put yourself in harm’s way when you are intoxicated. You probably wouldn’t listen.” 

“They shouldn’tve fought like that, Professor! You were tryin’ to lift everybody’s spirits ‘n stuff, and they were ruining it!”

She turned her head to look at him, and he realized how close she was. Normally if they were this close they were sparring, but they definitely weren’t sparring right now. Her voice got all soft as she said, “I appreciate the thought, Caspar. That’s sweet of you.” His stomach did that fluttery thing again, and it might have been the blow to the head or the ale he had, but he thought he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

“Of course, Professor. You’re always doing stuff for us, I wanna do stuff for you!”

She smiled before she turned to look down the path they were following toward the infirmary. “That’s one of the things I like about you Caspar, you’re always so concerned about others welfare.”

He blurted out, “Hey! I like things about you, too!”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah! You’re so strong, and smart, and you accept people for who they are! You look out for everybody, and you look out for me, and you’ve always been there to help me get better. I guess I’ve always wanted to keep you safe, because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” He wasn’t really sure where all of these words were coming from. He wasn’t really a romantic sorta guy, and he never really thought about this type of stuff, but… maybe he wanted to stay with the Professor?

She got all quiet as they climbed the stairs, and the sound of his heart beating in his ears seemed to get even louder. When they finally made it, they found that Manuela wasn’t even there. “Here. Why don’t you sit down?” The Professor helped him onto one of the beds, before walking over to the cabinets full of supplies and pulling a bunch of stuff out.

When she came back over, she poked around his eye as she looked really intently at him, and he started to squirm on the bed. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous. Maybe it was because they were really close again? Either way he felt like he was ready to burst!

She put a cool cloth on his eye and held it there as she said, “You know… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you either. I really care about you, Caspar.”

“Well, yeah!” he shouted. Why was he shouting? “You care about everybody!”

She chuckled softly and shook her head. “No, Caspar. I _care_ about you. Like—”

“Wait?! Like… _feelings_?” Now he really couldn’t stay still, but the Professor had a hand on his neck as the other held the cloth on his eye so he couldn’t really move. Any time he did it was just awkward squirming. His chest felt full, and the thought of what she'd just said made him feel extremely happy.

She laughed again as she nodded. “Yes… I suppose that’s the best way to describe it.”

He blurted out, “Dorothea says you’re dreamy, and that I stare at you a lot because I’m interested in you!”

The hand that was on his neck came up to rest on his cheek as the other ditched the cloth and cupped the other side. His whole vision was filled with the green green green of the Professor. “Are you? Interested?”

“I mean… I don’t know. I’m not the romantic type, you know? I never really thought…” A slight frown pulled at her lips, and his heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest. When she moved to take her hands away, he grabbed them and held them where they were. “Come on! You just sprang this on me! I don’t know what to say!”

That frown got worse, which felt awful. She pulled her hands out from beneath his and one started to glow with faith magic as she pressed it to his eye. He leaned into her hand and sighed as the warmth of the healing magic rushed through him. “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you kidding? I want to stay with you forever! I want to keep you safe! Though, I suppose you might have to keep me safe from myself every once and a while… obviously.” He motioned toward his eye, and the full feeling in his chest felt even fuller. “Ah! I just… I feel so happy! Ya know?!”

She tilted her head as she asked, “You mean it?” 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look like that, so… hopeful. The fact that it was about him made it so he couldn’t sit still any longer. He jumped to his feet, wobbling slightly to the point that the Professor had to catch his arm to right him, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “I’M SO HAPPY!” She giggled softly and pulled him closer, and his arms naturally moved to circle her waist. “We’ll fight side-by-side forever, yeah? And we’ll be happy! I’ll make you so happy! Just you wait!”

She stood up on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss to his cheek, and his cheeks got really warm. “That sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caspar has so many interesting supports, like the ones with Shamir, Petra, Edelgard, and Catherine. But... you know... he's also an oblivious himbo that obviously doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. I <3 him, I really do. I hope that came through here.


	6. Seteth: The Drunken Advisor

“I-I’m so sorry, Professor!” Ashe apologized for what had to be the fiftieth time since they had started dancing. The poor silver-haired archer was blushing profusely, and couldn’t seem to meet her gaze—though that may have been because he was busy staring down at his feet, trying in vain not to step on her toes.

“Ashe,” she gently coaxed him to look at her with a soft call of his name. “It’s alright to be new at something. Dancing will take practice, just like anything else. You weren’t skilled with a bow when you started, and now you are one of the best snipers in the Academy.” He beamed at the praise, still looking thoroughly flustered. “I’m not very good at this either, so there’s no need to—” 

Her sentence trailed off when she spied trouble over Ashe’s shoulder. She wasn’t exactly sure what that trouble was yet, but the fact that Claude and Sylvain were standing off to the side with their heads bowed together as they snickered could not be a good sign.

“Professor? Is everything alright?” Luckily, the song drew to a close and Ashe released his hold. She tried her best to smile—she had been working on it in the mirror because it seemed to help people relax—and crossed her arm over her chest as she bowed her head.

“Thank you for the dance, Ashe. Excuse me, but I need to go and check on something.”

“Of course!” Ashe chuckled nervously as he rubbed his hands down his sides, “Thank you for the opportunity to dance with you. I’ll see you around!” 

She dipped her head in farewell before leaving him on the dance floor, walking purposefully to avoid being asked by the several other students that seemed to be trying to ask her to dance. She silenced her footsteps, going slightly out of her way until she was out of both targets line of sight. It was easy to sneak up on Sylvain, though it was a bit harder with Claude. However, both were thoroughly distracted by something, so when she cleared her throat directly behind them, they both gave a satisfying yelp as they whipped around to face her.

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow as Sylvain immediately began his standard greeting. “Professor! You look lovely as—”

“What did you two do?”

“Teach!” Claude put his hand over his heart in mock hurt as he fluttered long dark lashes. “You wound me with these baseless accusations.” She didn’t bother to say anything. Claude was probably the student who held up under her scrutiny better than most—almost as well as Edelgard and Hubert—but Sylvain was easy enough. She set her sights on him and stared, tilting her head ever so slightly. 

The redhead began to fidget almost immediately, going with his telltale crossing his arms behind his head as he chuckled in the way she knew he often did when he was trying to be charming. He winked as he crooned, “Professor, if you stare at me like that, someone might get the wrong idea.”

She took a step closer, getting into his space, and narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. After several silent moments, his eyes nervously flicked to the other side of the room, and she broke her stare to follow, finding Seteth standing near the punch bowl, looking absolutely—Oh no.

“Detention. My classroom. Three weeks.”

“Teach!” Claude whined. Green eyes moved to glare daggers at Sylvain who raised his hands as he whispered, “I’m sorry dude! I can’t… I mean… it’s the Professor!”

She turned her head to narrow her eyes at him. “You spiked the punchbowl.”

“You couldn’t possibly think that it was me,” Claude chuckled. “Come on, Teach. I’m just an innocent little deerling, honest!”

She huffed a heavy breath out of her nose before stating, “You’re better at half-truths. Stick with those.” Claude flustered as he usually did when she called him out and she shook her head. “You both realize who is going to have to listen to Seteth’s lectures, right?” Both young men bowed their heads in shame and she ran her hands through her hair. “And now I have to deal with a drunk Seteth. I’m sure he’s just as ornery as usual.”

“Actually, Professor,” Sylvain chimed with a shit-eating grin, “I don’t think that will be the case. He’s been staring at you longingly from across the way most of the night. It became especially obvious after a few drinks, though.” Claude snickered into his hand and she cut him a glare, before glancing over his shoulder and finding that… 

Well, now. They weren’t wrong about the staring part.

As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “Detention. And dispose of the tainted punch. Now.” She heard whiny protests, but she knew they would follow her orders.

She made her way to the refreshments table, and found that emerald eyes followed her for most of the journey. She rallied herself with a steadying breath before bowing her head in greeting. “Good evening, Seteth.”

He cleared his throat before slurring, “Professor.” When she lifted her head, she immediately noticed hazy eyes and the fact that he was unsteady on his feet. She could tell he was trying to remain as stern as he normally was, but it didn’t have the intended affect with the brilliant flush across his cheeks.

“It’s come to my attention that some of the students have tampered with the refreshments,” she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckling as Seteth’s eyes blew comically wide, “I have dealt with the ones who caused the issue, but I feel it would be best if you took the rest of the night off.”

“Whatever do you mean, Professor?” He had to realize how slurred that was, right?

A melodic giggle sounded out behind her, and she turned to see Manuela and Hanneman approaching. “She’s right, Seteth, I’m afraid you don’t handle your drink very well. Why don’t you take him up to his room, Professor Byleth?” She immediately started to protest the former songstress’ idea, but the older woman winked as she added, “No need to worry, Hanneman and I will take over watching the students.”

“Yes, yes,” Hanneman agreed, glancing pointedly at the green-haired advisor as he said, “It appears Seteth will be needing the assistance.” She bit back another sigh as she noticed the advisor leaning heavily against the table, even as he tried to appear like everything was normal.

“Fine.” She dipped her head in approval before stepping closer to Seteth. “Why don’t you take my arm?” She held it out so Seteth could loop his own through it, but even the suggestion morphed the intoxicated advisor’s face into one of pure horror. She firmly added, “I’d say it’s better than me carrying you out of here.” Manuela giggled into her fist as Hanneman tried to cover his guffawing with a cough.

“Very well,” Seteth stammered. He moved to loop his arm through hers, and she tried not to think about the way her stomach flipped at the proximate and warmth he radiated. They began walking, and it became apparent that this would not work all the way up to his room, but she knew they needed to at least try to maintain a sense of Seteth’s “propriety” while in the ballroom. He would never forgive her if she did otherwise.

“Brother?” Flayn approached from her right, eyebrows furrowed in concern, causing Seteth to tense to the point that her arm almost hurt in his grip. Flayn’s eyes darted down to their linked arms before a mischievous gleam entered them. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course, Flayn. I was just… retiring… for the evening.” She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. He must have been trying to hide the fact that he was drunk, but now it looked as if they were retiring together, and if Flayn’s smile and barely restrained squeal was any indication, she had taken it as such.

“He’s not feeling well,” she interjected, “But there’s no need to worry. I’ll get him up to his room, and I’m sure he’ll feel better in the morning.” 

He definitely wouldn’t with how drunk he was.

“Oh,” Flayn outwardly deflated, the earlier glee turning into concern. “Do you need my assistance, Professor?”

“I’ll be fine. Why don’t you stay and enjoy the festivities?” Goddess knows she likely wasn’t before, with an overbearing brother watching the whole time. Seteth started to protest before throwing a fist over his mouth. Flayn’s eyes widened in alarm, but she quickly dragged Seteth toward the door as she called back, “See you tomorrow!”

Thankfully, they made it outside before Seteth bent over the bushes and became sick. She kept watch for passersby, but it seemed they were fortunate and everyone was still inside for the dance. She kept him steadied with her arm until he stood up straight with something that had to be a curse based on the inflection of his voice, though she couldn’t understand what language it was. Maybe it was just too slurred to tell. She did catch the von Riegan part, though.

She pulled his arm over her shoulders as she wrapped her own around his waist. She hadn’t been expecting to feel sturdy muscle beneath his robes, but it was making the warmth in her chest and cheeks significantly worse, as was the way he leaned heavily against her side. “I take it you don’t drink much,” she said conversationally, trying to keep her mind off of the fact that she had never touched Seteth this much before.

“Not for centuries,” he slurred, chuckling dryly. “It seems I’m out of practice.”

She snorted in amusement as she dragged him toward the stairs to the third floor. “Yeah, it feels like it’s been a while for me, too.” She hadn’t been drunk since she’d become a professor. She found that students were always seeking her out, and she didn’t want to be caught in such a state, unable to help them.

Seteth became suspiciously quiet as they walked, but she tried to focus on the task at hand. “Professor…” she glanced over, but found that he was already looking at her and it brought their faces unbearably close. “Do you… Am I…” He groaned loudly, the sound ringing in the enclave as they rounded toward the stairs. 

She softly asked, “Is something wrong?” She took the first step up the stairs, but found that Seteth was not cooperating. He took his arm away from her shoulders and slumped against the wall, looking outwardly dejected. 

“Am I suffocating?”

“I’d say you are breathing just fine,” she dryly commented, earning a hazy glare from the advisor. 

“My… _personality_.”

She pulled him back against her side, set on fulfilling her task. Having a conversation with Seteth right now would probably be pointless. “I’m the Ashen Demon… I’m not the person to talk to in regards to personality.” He released something that sounded painfully close to a whimper, and slumped even further against her. If he didn’t start walking, she was going to throw him over her shoulder. Actually, she didn’t feel like having puke down her back. Bridal carry, then.

 _“My, my,_ ” a familiar voice chimed in the back of her mind, _“What have we here?”_

 ** _“Please, not now,”_** she mentally pleaded, but it seemed she would have no such luck.

 _“Oh dear,”_ Sothis giggled. She probably went through her memories and realized what was happening. Sothis had explained it to her once, when they were still new to their situation, that she had access to Byleth’s memories, and could often see what she missed when she was sleeping in the back of Byleth’s mind. _“This is quite the compromising situation the taciturn advisor finds himself in. The little deerling will pay dearly.”_ She giggled at her own pun, further grating on Byleth’s nerves.

She grunted in exertion as she pulled him up the stairs, never having realized how heavy the advisor was. “You’re drunk, Seteth. Let’s get you to bed. Jump on my back.”

That seemed to pull Seteth from his drunken stupor. “P-Pardon?”

“Get on my back, or we’re never getting up the stairs.” He hesitated, still staring at her with hazy emerald eyes, so she took things into her own hands. She crouched down and backed into him, grabbing muscular thighs with her hands. He gave an undignified yelp and fell forward onto her shoulders, and she pulled him onto her back.

“P-Professor…”

“It’s fine, you probably won’t remember this in the morning.”

 _“He should hope not,”_ Sothis cackled. Byleth could feel the sheer glee radiating off the might-be-a-goddess in her head at her current predicament.

 _ **“He is very heavy. Can I focus, please?”**_ Sothis let out a disappointed huff, but faded further into the back of her mind, making it easier to focus.

What was not making it easier to focus, was the drunken advisor’s warm breath on her neck, and the way she could feel his heart racing. She gritted her teeth and pushed her legs even harder, quickly ascending the stairs until they reached the third floor. She let him down, and he released a soft groan as he tried to remain upright. She held him up by the waist as he dug through his pockets to find his key. He fumbled with it, unable to get it unlocked with how drunk he was, so eventually she leaned closer and took it from his hand with a gently spoken, “Here, let me.” She placed the key in the lock and managed to get the door open, pulling him inside and closing the door behind them. 

Seteth’s quarters were much nicer than her own, with a large four-poster bed with a plush lounger at the foot of it, and seating area in the corner. She took in what she could see of the advisor’s living space by the moonlight that trickled in through the windows before taking Seteth over toward the bed. She adjusted her hold to help him sit down on the bed, but when he was in front of her, he did something she didn’t expect—he buried his face in her neck and pathetically whimpered, “Now you will think even less of me.”

She awkwardly patted his back in an attempt to comfort him as she assured him, “I was raised in a mercenary troop, you are not the first drunk man I’ve escorted to bed.”

“I don’t want you to think of me as a… drunk man… Nor do I want you to think that I dislike you.”

It was obvious that Seteth was wary of her from the start, not that she could fault him for that. She had been hired with zero qualifications, and Rhea had been suspiciously set on trusting her from the very beginning. However, things had been getting better between them over time, especially since she was able to save Flayn after she was kidnapped by the Death Knight. Things were… alright… between them. She had a bit of misplaced affection for him—perhaps lustful intrigue was a better word—but things were sufficient the way they were.

“It’s alright, Seteth. Things are better between us now, aren’t they?”

He pulled his face out from its hiding place in her neck and she took the opportunity to sit him down on the bed. His eyes looked endearingly hopeful as he looked up at her and asked, “Truly?”

“Sure,” she nodded. “I know you don’t dislike me. I enjoy…” she searched her brain for the right wording as she glanced around the room for a water jug, “… having you as an ally.” That’s what he had called her, wasn’t it? The night she found him packing up his office in an attempt to flee the monastery after Flayn’s return.

Seteth bowed his head with a heavy sigh. “That is not ideal.”

She spotted the water jug and made her way over to it, brushing off what he said and actively trying not to figure out what it meant. She poured a glass and walked back over to him, gently pushing it into his hands. “Drink this. You’ll feel better in the morning if you do.”

He fumbled with the glass, spilling most of it against his tunic, though he managed to drink what remained in the glass. She took it from him, and walked over to fill it again. Then, as she turned to walk back toward him, she found him struggling to unbutton his tunic. Heat rushed to her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure why. She was a mercenary growing up, she had seen plenty of naked men in her life, why would this affect her? But she found that it did. 

She rushed over to set the cup down on his bedside table before saying, “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“Perhaps you could…” he grunted in frustration, “assist me…” another disgruntled sound, “with these?” He had about a million buttons, and he had struggled with the glass, so she could only imagine how difficult they were in his current, drunken state.

“I’m…” she swallowed audibly, “I’m not sure…” He grabbed both sides of what he had managed to open and looked as if he might tear it open and she scrambled forward calling out, “Don’t rip it!” His tunic had to be worth quite a bit of coin, not to mention she wasn’t sure she could stand it if he managed to rip it off.

She grabbed his hands, pulling them away before working at the buttons with her own less than steady fingers. Thankfully—or unfortunately, she hadn't decided whether she was disappointed or not—he had an undershirt beneath it, though it was wet so it didn’t do much to conceal the definition in his muscular chest. 

Goddess this was a terrible idea. 

She worked through the buttons as quickly as she could before standing up straight again. Seteth had already managed to take off his belt, so he shucked the robes from his shoulders with a groan. She couldn’t help staring as he pulled the undershirt over his head, wrinkling his nose at the dampness of it. She wasn’t sure how he was so muscular, what with the fact that most of his time was spent taking care of the menial paperwork and other such tasks for Lady Rhea, but he was. Then he looked up to her, and she flushed further when she realized she’d been caught.

His gaze was intense as he softly uttered, “I find you… utterly bewitching.”

She weakly stammered, “W-What?”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “It has been so long since I felt this way for another, but I cannot fight against my thoughts of you any longer.”

“Seteth… Seteth you’re drunk. You should—” Her sentence ended abruptly when Seteth grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down to him, both of them falling backward onto the bed as he brought his lips against hers. Her hands instinctively moved to press against his chest, and heat pooled in her stomach at the resulting moan that she swallowed from Seteth. 

She pulled back, panting from her surprise and the loss of breath from the intense kiss. “I thought… But you…” Seteth’s eyes were dark as he stared up at her, a flustered stammering mess. So much for being the Ashen Demon. She took a deep breath to steady herself before managing, “You’re drunk. We shouldn’t do this now.”

“Stay with me.” He pulled her down for another kiss, brushing his hands down her sides in a way that sent a chill down her spine. “Let me hold you as I have wished to.”

“I can’t… take advantage like this.” She attempted to push herself off of him, but the action resulted in her straddling his hips which certainly did not help her in her attempt to flee. Seteth’s large hands moved to hold her thighs, his eyes still dark and hungry, even if they were still hazy from the drink.

What if he was just drunk? What if he didn’t actually want this? She couldn’t let this happen.

She took another deep breath before finally managing to scramble off the bed. She straightened her clothes as Seteth pushed himself back up to sitting, looking awfully pouty. She bent down and pressed another kiss to his lips, savoring it just in case it was the last she would have. “If you still want me when you wake up tomorrow, come and find me.” 

His hands tangled in her hair, holding her in place so he could pull her into another hungry kiss. When he pulled back, he again insisted, “Stay.”

“Next time,” she promised with a small smile. He released her with a disappointed sigh, and she bent down to take off his boots before tucking him into bed. When she pressed a kiss to his forehead, he was already drifting off. “Goodnight, Seteth.”

As he nuzzled into his pillow, he sleepily sighed, “Goodnight, Byleth.” 


	7. Shamir: Survivors

She wasn’t normally the type to wallow, such things were pointless and she knew it. Nevertheless, that’s what she found herself doing. Wallowing. She had retired early for the evening, cracked open the old bottle of liquor in the back of her bottom drawer and now found herself lying on her bed, staring at the dagger.

The dagger. The only thing she hadn’t been able to leave behind.

Dark hair, black as the night sky, framing a pale face with striking blue eyes. A person long gone, but still dwelling in the recesses of her mind. Especially on nights like tonight, on nights where she asked herself why she was here in the first place. Why was she caught up in a war that wasn’t even hers to begin with? How did she find herself in this position again? She wasn’t stupid, she knew she wasn’t... She was just too damn sentimental for her own good.

 _“It’s been ten years… can I move on yet?”_ She scoffed at her own thoughts and took another drink. _“Never mind. I know what you’d say.”_

A firm knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts, and she placed the dagger in her hands on her desk as she called, “I’m busy.” Her voice slurred somewhat, but she hoped it wasn’t enough that the person on the other side of the door would notice.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice answered. She knew that she shouldn’t open it. Being around her in this state wasn’t the best idea, but that damn sentimentality had her heart racing as her feet carried her to her door of their own accord.

“What do you want?” Mint-green tresses framed the familiar face, though she sometimes missed the blue from before whatever the fuck happened in that forest. Before everything went to shit. Before Byleth vanished off the face of the earth for nearly five years. 

Fodlan was so fucking weird.

“To check on you,” was Byleth’s pointed answer. Brilliant green eyes stared into her own as they fell into a tension-filled silence. She didn’t move to allow Byleth in—she was still apprehensive about being around her in this state. Really, she was scared she’d say something she would regret. That’s the reason she never drank around people. Drink dulled the mind and made people reckless, and recklessness wasn’t her style. Precision was. Seeing things coming so she was prepared for it, was. But she hadn’t seen her feelings for Byleth coming.

When she didn’t say anything in response, Byleth added, “I overheard your conversation with Caspar.”

“Oh.” Her jaw tightened somewhat as she glanced off to the side. Byleth was one of the few people whose gaze had an effect on her. Though she wasn’t alone in that, because there weren’t many who could stand under her scrutiny. It was one of the things that reminded her of dark hair, black as the night sky, framing a pale face with striking blue eyes—

 _Stop_.

“May I join you?” Byleth nodded toward the inside of the room, and she reluctantly stepped aside to allow Byleth in, ignoring the part of her that screamed that it was a mistake.

She’d been intrigued when Byleth had first arrived, mostly because she didn’t understand how in the hell she’d landed the job as professor for the Golden Deer House. Jeralt the Blade Breaker was a name that had reached even her ears, even though she had never met the grizzled older warrior until he arrived back here. She’d heard the rumors that he’d set part of the monastery on fire before he’d fled into the night. She’d heard the rumors about the baby that supposedly perished in the flames. So why would Rhea, upon finding him again, immediately hand him his old job back and hire his stonefaced daughter to teach a bunch of children that were practically her own age?

Byleth was skilled—precise—Shamir couldn’t deny that. She also couldn’t say that the brats weren’t better off with a professor like her. She didn’t pull her punches. Right from the beginning she taught those kids how to defend themselves in an attack, before moving on to how to fight back, and finally how to win. Before long, the differences between her class and the other two were readily apparent. There was no nonsense with her. She wasn’t drunk half the time, she didn’t go off on tangents about her own passions and waste the brats time, she taught them everything they needed to know—whether they wanted to know it or not.

But why would Rhea do such a thing? Rhea wasn’t one to do things without motive. There was always a reason, she just didn’t know what it was. That is… until they came back from the Sealed Forest. That day, everything changed, and she realized that Rhea thought Byleth was a pawn in whatever game she was playing. But Byleth wasn’t a pawn. She was a fighter. She was a survivor. 

A survivor like her.

Byleth examined the bottle of liquor she’d been consuming with a careful eye as she commented, “Caspar’s not known for his tact, but that’s one of the things I like about him.” She hummed in agreement, knowing that Byleth already knew how she felt if she’d overheard the conversation.

He had been acting strangely around her over the last few weeks, and she was over it. Caspar was always one to speak his mind, so why was he beating around the bush with her?

_“I heard that you fought in the battle between the Empire and Dagda… And I heard that you maybe lost someone important in that battle…”_

She wasn’t so callous as to say she didn’t understand the overeager young man’s guilt, but she also knew he couldn’t carry the guilt for his father’s actions because it would only weigh him down in the long run. His father was a man who had nearly single-handedly ruined the lives of the people that dwelt in two nations, for better or for worse. You could say that Dagda was asking for it by starting the confrontation—and for pulling Brigid into the fighting—but such was war. There was blame and guilt everywhere you looked. No one ever came out of it clean.

She certainly wasn’t.

She may have been a bit too harsh. Caspar was a tenderhearted soul—as ready as he always was for a fight, he wasn’t the type that enjoyed hurting others. He was the type to protect, to look out for those that were weaker than him. For that type of young man to be around people who had been gravelly impacted by his father’s decisions and still try to seek friendships was… She wasn’t sure she had a word for it. It showed he had a good heart. She thought it was a pity that it would hurt him in the long run, especially with the war they were currently fighting.

She was sure he hadn’t meant to anger her, nor had he probably meant to bring up memories that were better left in the darker recesses of her brain where they belonged. However, he had, and she had uncharacteristically lashed out. She was only human. As much as she tried to leave the past in the past, she was still angry. She was still haunted by that battle, even if she couldn’t admit that.

 _“Bring them back,”_ she’d demanded, startling the young man with the abruptness of her order. _“If you’re responsible, then bring back the lives that were lost.”_ He couldn’t, no one could. She knew that. Still she said, _“If you can’t, then spare me your pity.”_

Stop dragging up things that are better left in the past. 

She pulled out an extra glass from her cabinet and handed it to Byleth as she stated, “He’s carrying guilt that’s not his to carry.”

“Aren’t we all?” The words surprised her enough to make her glance over at Byleth, who had poured herself a drink and was swirling it in her glass. “That’s what a life of fighting does to you. Not everyone survives that.” She reached over to pour herself some more as she pondered what Byleth had said, and a contemplative silence settled between them. That was another thing that she liked about Byleth, there wasn’t the usual pressure to fill the silence with her.

There were a lot of things she liked about Byleth.

Byleth prodded, “This person you lost… You were in love with them?”

She nodded. “My first.”

Byleth hummed in acknowledgment and then took another sip of her drink. “Do you think of them often?”

“It’s all I can focus on lately…”

“That’s unlike you.” When she glanced toward the former professor, she found her staring, her gaze open and eager. Maybe that was part of what brought all of those students in. Perhaps that was why everyone seemed to trust her. Perhaps it was what made her want to talk about it… or maybe that was the drink.

She huffed a quiet laugh into her cup before saying, “To be honest, I blame you.” Byleth gave the slightest tilt of her head and raised her eyebrow. “I’m just teasing. I know it’s not your fault. You just remind me of him.” The admission sent a pang through her chest, even though the loss had been with her for over a decade now. “You give off a similar air… it’s uncanny. You even have the same inflection, which makes absolutely no sense because we only ever spoke Dagdan. I don’t know what it is, but you feel the same to me.” She sighed before admitting, “I guess you just remind me of the past.”

Byleth was staring at her wide eyed when she finished her rambling, and she released a nervous chuckle as she asked, “What?”

“You aren’t normally this talkative.” A small smile spread across Byleth’s rather plump-looking lips, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks as she looked away.

“I get a bit chatty when I drink.”

“I like it.” Byleth scooted across the bed to sit beside her, both of their backs against the wall. With the slightest movement, Byleth’s tight-clad thigh came to rest against her own, and she could have sworn it started a fire beneath her skin. “I’m sorry if it hurts you… that I remind you of him.”

“Please. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault for getting caught up in memories.” She rested the back of her head against the wall with a dull ‘ _thump_ ’. “I shouldn’t have let Caspar’s words get to me.”

“You’re only human,” Byleth shrugged. “Memories get to everyone, every once and a while. I’m just glad you were willing to talk to me about it.” Mint green tresses tousled as Byleth turned her face toward hers, and she silently wondered if they had ever been this close before. 

She huffed, “Were you worried about me?”

Those brilliant green eyes crinkled slightly as she whispered, “Yes.”

She wasn’t sure what it was; perhaps the drink, the nostalgia, or the proximate, but before she had properly processed the thought, she tilted forward and brought her lips to Byleth’s. She pulled back and quickly realized what she had done. Her eyes blew wide as she began, “I’m sorry—” but she couldn’t get another word in because Byleth was cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a deeper kiss.

She sighed at the contact, and Byleth used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, surging forward just as she always did it battle and doing the bulk of the work as she succumbed to the sensations. After a few moments Byleth pulled back and they were both panting into the silence of her room. Byleth took the glass still clutched in her hand and then moved to set them on the floor before shuffling on her knees back toward her. 

“Are you drunk?” Byleth prodded, looking intensely into her eyes as she moved to her knees to press against her.

“Not too drunk for this,” she answered, before surging forward to capture Byleth’s lips again. Byleth’s fingers traveled up to weave into her hair as her own explored the expanse of lithe muscle the former mercenary had earned through years of fighting. The scars that littered every inch of bared flesh were a testament of battles fought and survived. They were the same, she and Byleth. They had survived too many battles to count, had dirtied their hands in other people’s wars, and they both chose to continue fighting.

Byleth pressed her back onto the bed, one thigh nestled between her legs as her weight settled comfortably atop her. Through the haziness of her mind, she idly wondered if this was truly happening, or if it was all just a dream, brought on by the liquor and her sad pining. Mint tresses curtained around their faces as Byleth pulled back to pant, “I’m not good with words, but I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Me too,” she frantically nodded, trying to pull her back down on top of her. She wanted more more _more_. She _needed_ it.

“But like… _feelings_ , right?” 

She couldn’t help laughing as she took in Byleth’s twisted expression and the hesitancy of her tone. This was the woman who charged into battle without a single thought, and could stand against any foe. The woman who had wormed her way into the hearts of everyone at the monastery with her doe eyes and her resolve to help others. This was the woman who was just as taciturn as she was, but here she was blushing and nervous while lying on top of her.

It’s funny how that happens.

She chuckled, “Yes, _feelings_.” 

She was rewarded with pressure from Byleth’s thigh and a devious grin that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen on Byleth’s face before. Heat pooled in her stomach, spreading across every inch of her skin as Byleth trailed kisses over her choker to purr in her ear, “Good.”

And in that moment she thought, _"Maybe it’s good to be reckless every once and a while…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References Caspar's B Support with Shamir. Some of his supports are amazing and aren't delved into enough by the fandom, so I thought I'd take a crack at it. 
> 
> Also... was anyone else surprised when Shamir ended up being straight? Because... like... seriously?


	8. Seteth: The Second Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... people requested a part two. No one is drunk, and it's not lighthearted... but here ya go! (I swear I'm still working on more drunken confessions.)

Waking up with a hangover for the first time in several centuries was _decidedly_ unpleasant. Someone knocked on the door to his bedroom, and he cracked his eyes open with a groan, feeling like the light streaming through the windows was attacking him, personally.

A key entered the lock, and he bolted up to a sitting position, only to groan as Cethleann entered and lay back down, covering his chest with his sheets with the slight embarrassment he could afford in his current state. “I take it you aren’t feeling any better, brother?” She walked over with a tray, carrying his favorite tea and a few slices of bread, the sight of which caused his stomach to threaten to spill its contents.

He covered his eyes with his hands in a feeble attempt to block out the light as he nodded. “What time is it?”

“The ninth bell rung but a moment ago.”

He sat up once again in alarm, and immediately regretted it. “The ninth bell?!” He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept past even the seventh bell. When he got his hands on whomever dosed the punch— _he just knew it was the troublesome Riegan boy_ —he was going to make them shovel the stables for the rest of the year! 

“Do not be alarmed. The Professor informed everyone during the staff meeting this morning that you were feeling unwell. Rhea is adamant that you take a day of rest today.”

His eyes blew wide. “The Professor?” Oh dear, it was all coming back now. He’d been sick in front of the Professor, whined like a child, and then she had _carried_ him. 

_In the name of all that is holy..._ But wait… They had kissed! He touched his bottom lip as he pondered what had happened. Not just kissed… it was… Oh dear. His heart raced as heat coiled in his stomach. It had been so long since he had felt this way, but that kiss last night, that had been…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly. She is young! She is human! She is a professor for the Academy! And not just any professor, his _daughter’s_ professor! And she bears the Crest of Flames! There is so much still unknown about her, and her father, how could he possibly allow himself to—

“Brother? Brother?” Cethleann waved a hand in front of his face, her brow furrowed in obvious concern. “Is everything alright? Perhaps I should…” Her hands glowed with Faith magic and when she rested them upon his head his headache eased, though his stomach still felt far from pleasant. 

He wearily sighed, “Forgive me, Flayn. I suppose I was lost within my own thoughts…”

“Thoughts of the Professor?” Flayn smiled coyly and poured some tea as he spluttered.

“Flayn! Whatever would give you such an idea?”

“I see how you look at her, _brother_.” She emphasized the fake familial title before giggling softly into her fist. “She is quite beautiful, and so very kind. I must confess that I was slightly disappointed when you were not sneaking off for an amorous meeting last night. I thought surely—"

“Amorous meeting?! That is it! You are spending far too much time with those miscreants in the Golden Deer class. I will not hear of you—”

“Brother!” Flayn groaned and stood from the bed. “I will not hear of you speaking of my friends in such a manner. I am no longer a child, and I will no longer allow you to treat me as such. Now I am leaving to fulfill my duties for the day.” She then stood and stomped out of the room in a huff.

He sighed wearily and sank back into the pillows. Amorous meeting? Wherever would she learn of such things? It had to be those troublemakers, like the Riegan boy, or heaven forbid the philanderer, Gautier. A shudder went down his spine at the thought. Himself? And the Professor? What complete and utter—

 _Soft, plush lips against his own, dusky blue hair twined in his fingers as she pressed against his chest. “If you still want me when you wake up tomorrow, come and find me.”_ His traitorous _member_ twitched in interest as his nerves caught alight and his breathing quickened. 

_No. No. No. No. No._ He covered his face with his pillow and growled in frustration. Perhaps it was best if he stayed in today. Perhaps it was better if he never saw that… _woman_ … ever again. That beautiful, capable, strong, fierce warrior of a woman that was so very good with Flayn and loved to fish and—

NO!

He must have dozed off at some point, because he was abruptly awoken by banging on his door. He scrambled up and threw a robe on before cracking it and finding Shamir on the other side. “Demonic beasts have been sighted near the old chapel. Thought you should know.”

He threw the door open, his state of undress no longer a thought as he frantically asked, “How is that possible?!”

“Reports say there were students acting strangely as they headed toward the chapel, then the next moment Demonic Beasts burst from the building one by one.” All of the blood drained from his face as he gripped the door frame like a lifeline.

Not again. It couldn’t be happening again.

“Alois, Captain Jeralt, and Professor Byleth have already taken a battalion of knights and the Golden Deer students to take care of it. They will likely be back soon.”

His heart constricted in his chest. “Flayn…”

“Is in the capable hands of the Professor and our best knights. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.” Shamir nodded curtly and strode off as he slammed the door shut and fumbled about the room for his clothing.

This had to be linked to Cethleann’s abduction and the events of Remire. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that there was someone out there that knew the power of their blood. Things were truly more dire than he had even considered. He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and combed through his hair to try and appear as put together as possible with his current state, before bursting out the door and making his way down to the second floor, only to be tackled into an embrace by a sobbing Flayn.

“Flayn? Flayn what is wrong?”

She woefully cried, “It was so awful. Captain Jeralt… he’s dead.” His blood ran cold as he looked up to see Alois and young Raphael carrying a stretcher covered with a sheet toward the infirmary, a solemn procession of normally bright and lively Golden Deer students followed behind, noticeably missing the Riegan boy and Professor Byleth. “I am so sorry I was cross with you this morning. Please forgive me!”

“All is forgiven, Flayn.” He hushed her softly as he returned his embrace. He knew he should be focusing on comforting her, but his mind was already racing with all that must be done. Did Seiros know? Who had been capable of slaying the Blade Breaker—arguably one of the greatest knights in the last century?

Was Byleth alright?

He hesitantly asked, “The Professor?” and Flayn pulled away from their embrace with a hiccuped sob. 

Her eyes were haunted as she whispered, “It was so awful. She… she watched the whole thing. We were… we were too late. I couldn’t save him. Her sobs, Brother…” She dissolved into a fresh round of tears and he held her, feeling overwhelmingly useless.

He escorted Cethleann to her quarters before sprinting down to the infirmary, where he noticed that the Golden Deer were no longer occupying the hallway. He entered the room to find Manuela and Seiros examining the body, Seiros face firmly set in an unreadable expression that he recognized well at this point. Sir Jeralt—one blessed with the blood of Seiros herself—lay dead on the bed. He had witnessed the death of many humans during his many centuries of life, but he could not help the ominous feeling that the loss of this human had set something into motion that would affect the lives of many. 

He cleared his throat and willed his voice to remain steady as he asked, “Do we know anything yet?”

Seiros lifted her head to look at him as she solemnly said, “Ah, Seteth. I see you have heard the devastating news. It appears there was another traitor among us. The student that was saved with dear Flayn, Monica, was the one who killed Jeralt.” The flash of fury in her gaze was chilling, but it was quickly replaced by her usual air of calm. 

“I’ve never seen a blade such as this,” Manuela interjected, lifting a curved dagger from the table with trembling hands. “Marianne and Flayn informed me that the wound it created was impossible to heal with magic. What could do such a thing?”

Ancient material that had been destroyed long ago… or so Seiros said.

“One stab from this blade was all that it took to slay the Blade Breaker.” Manuela’s lower lip trembled before she dropped the wretched thing back to the table and brought a handkerchief out of her pocket to dab her eyes. She sniffled, “Forgive me.”

“It is natural to feel grief at a time such as this,” Seiros soothed, her gaze faraway as she rubbed the former songstress’ shoulder. “Captain Jeralt was a dear friend and his loss will be felt deeply by all who knew him.”

There was one person who would be affected more than anyone… Jeralt’s daughter. He worriedly asked, “Has anyone spoken with Professor Byleth? Do we know if she is alright?” 

Seiros’ gaze held an emotion that he could not place before it vanished as she suggested, “Perhaps you should go and see to her while Manuela and I finish preparing the body for burial.”

“As you wish, Lady Rhea.” He bowed formally and made a concerted effort not to appear as if he was rushing out of the room. As soon as the door was shut behind him, he walked purposefully to the stairs and made his way down. Just last night he and Byleth passed through here as she helped him to his room. How had everything gone so terribly wrong?

When he stepped out at the bottom of the landing, he noticed that it was pouring rain, though he hardly cared as he walked around the corner near the Training Grounds, making his way toward Byelth’s quarters. He came to a stop as he rounded the corner and spotted the Golden Deer standing outside Byelth’s door. It looked as though Claude was speaking through the wood of the door, but it did not open. 

He watched—uncaring of the cold of the rain pouring down upon on him—as the children gave up one by one. Young Hilda led a devastated Marianne away with an arm draped about her shoulders, as Raphael carried a sobbing Leonie away, the poor girl in near hysterics as she pummeled her fists into the much larger man’s chest. The timid Ignatz bowed his head and walked away with Lorenz, leaving only Claude outside the door.

Verdant green eyes spotted him, and an alarmingly somber Claude walked toward him, his armor still covered in blood. The younger man’s voice was thick with emotion as he informed him, “Teach won’t talk to anyone. She’s locked herself in her room.”

“Is she… unharmed?” There was no world in which she would be alright when the only family that she had, had just been killed before her very eyes, but it was important to know whether she had been injured during the battle and needed attention from a healer before she locked herself away to mourn her loss.

A mirthless huff of laughter escaped the young man in front of him before he turned back to look at his professor’s door, still shielding the grieving woman within. “Physically, Marianne said she was alright.” He paused for a moment before sighing, “You should try your hand. Maybe she’ll speak to you.”

He quietly responded, “I greatly doubt that.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Claude ran a hand down his face, covered in rain and grime from battle, and loosed a weary sigh that made him seem far older than he truly was. Events such as this, watching someone you care for lose something so dear, it changes you. He knew that better than most. It was quite clear that this was no longer the troublesome boy that he was hell-bent on punishing earlier this morning. Naturally, such things were the farthest from his mind after recent events.

Lacking the words to make any of this right, he fell back on his usual habit of a solemnly spoken, “Go and get cleaned up. Classes will be postponed until further notice.” Claude gave a mock salute and walked toward the bathhouse, his shoulders drooping as he slowly walked away.

He hesitated then, unsure of what he wished to do. His mind told him that it was pointless to knock on the door—obviously she hadn’t opened up for her beloved students, so there was no possibility of her opening the door for one such as him—though there was still a voice in the back of his mind that begged him to at least try. Before he knew it, his feet had taken him down the pathway, up the steps, and left him standing outside her door with his fist raised to knock.

On a heavy exhale, he did so, the knock resonating into the air as he stood there, waiting. His effort garnered no response, as expected, nevertheless he called out, “Professor… No, Byleth… it’s me. I just… wished to see if you were alright.” He strained his ears for any sort of sound, but heard no movement within the room. “I am… deeply sorry for your loss, Byleth. I… wish for you to know that I am here… should you have need of anything. I know I was… utterly foolish last night… but I hope you still feel you can come to me if you should… need anything.” 

Quite honestly, he could punch himself right now. How on earth did he find himself bumbling outside this woman’s doorway, talking about his drunkenness the night prior when she had just lost her father? “I am… deeply sorry. I will not disturb you any longer.”

He turned away, biting back a disappointed sigh, only to stall as he heard the distinct sound of a lock unlatching. He glanced over his shoulder as the door opened barely a crack, and a red-rimmed blue eye could be seen peeking through. He turned back toward the door, but hesitated when she did not say anything, or open the door any further.

He stepped forward cautiously as he softly, and maybe slightly more pleadingly than he would have liked, asked, “What can I do? What do you need?” He was alarmed by the amount of need that he felt at the sight of her—to hold her, to comfort her, to make sure she was safe. He knew that he could not pressure her with his presence, not after his drunken advances the night prior, but if there was anything he could do to help her in any way—

“I couldn’t save him.” He was pulled from his swirling thoughts and feelings by the brokenly whispered phrase, and he felt his heart shatter within his chest. He took another step forward without fully meaning to, and outstretched his hand toward the door, only for it to open further. Byleth was still in her measly armored pieces, her hair was damp and wild from the battle and the rain, and blood—he imagined it was her father’s—covered most of her body.

She clapped her hand over her mouth as her shoulders convulsed with a terrible sob, and he rushed forward to pull her into his arms without a second thought. He kicked the door shut behind him, wanting to shield her from prying eyes, and held her as she cried. He knew what it felt like, not being able to save the person you love most in the world. Even centuries later, the pain of it dully throbbed as he stroked a hand through her damp tresses.

The room was completely dark when her tears ceased, though he could tell that she would still be crying if she had the wherewithal to do so. He left her seated on the bed as he went to pour her water, but she didn’t respond when he held it out to her. He knelt down and carefully cupped her hand around the glass as he urged her, “Please, drink.” Her eyes met his before falling to her lap as she took a small sip. Figuring it would have to be enough, he took the glass from her loose grasp and set it on the desk behind him.

He knelt in front of her again as he asked, “Do you wish to get cleaned up?” Her lip trembled when her eyes roamed her body before clenching shut. He whispered, “Come. You will rest better if you do so.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t resist, though she also didn’t contribute to the action. He wagered she had retreated into her own mind as he pulled her out of the room and up the stairs to the bathhouse, the thought of their roles having reversed from last night settling over him like a heavy weight.

They were fortunate in that there were no spectators as they made their way to the private baths that were provided solely for the faculty. He opened one of the rooms and thought that the relief he felt at having something to do for her was slightly foolish. He heated the water, pouring in lavender oils in hopes that the smell would help to put her more at ease, and made sure that there were fresh towels and a robe prepared for when she was finished. She stood in the corner and watched him as he moved about the small space preparing everything for her, and her eyes finally met his as he asked, “Will this be sufficient for you?” She nodded, her eyes still empty as she began pulling at the lacing of her breastplate. 

His collar felt far too tight as he nodded and quickly made his way to the door, only to stop as she quietly called, “Wait…” He turned back as her breastplate clattered to the ground, his eyes fixated on the way her teeth tugged at her lower lip before she whispered, “Will you… stay? I don’t… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

His mind insisted that he must not. It was highly improper, not to mention he wasn’t sure his body could take being in this close a proximate with her in a state of undress, but he found that his traitorous mouth answered, “Whatever you need.” The softening of her gaze stirred something in his chest, but he pushed it aside as he stood facing the door, looking pointedly away as she lowered herself into the bath with a small sigh of relief that set his skin ablaze.

It wasn’t long after that she finished, coming to rest her forehead against his shoulder blade, wrapped in a robe with a towel beneath her wet hair. Just above a whisper, he asked, “Shall I walk you back to your quarters?” At the sound of a small sniffle, he turned to find that her tears had started anew. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, trying to wipe the tiny droplets away with the fabric of her sleeves, “they won’t seem to stop.”

He pulled her to his chest, idly thinking he enjoyed how her body fit against his own, and murmured into her hair, “There’s no need to apologize. It is perfectly normal to cry when you experience grief.”

She quietly admitted, “I had never cried before today. The first time my father ever saw me cry, it was as he was dying in my arms.” Her grip on his tunic tightened as she gritted out, “How messed up is that?” 

The relationship between Jeralt and Byleth had always perplexed him, from the moment they had walked into the Audience Chamber the very first day. They obviously respected one another, but there were no acts of affection that he or anyone else seemed to be privy to. They looked for all the world as if they were familiar business partners, rather than father and daughter. That was, until the day he overheard Jeralt as he was drinking with some of the knights, speaking of Byleth and her students with a note of obvious pride and a rare smile across his normally stern features. 

“He loved you, and he knew you loved him. That is what truly matters. How one shows it is not as important.”

She pulled back enough to look up at him as she whispered, “Thank you. For all of this.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” 

They walked silently back to her room and he carefully placed her soiled things in a hamper as she made her way to the bed. His hands twitched at his sides with the urge to do more— _something, anything_ —but he couldn’t think of much. “Would you like some food?” She silently shook her head as she crawled beneath the covers. “Would you like some water?” Another silent shake of her head. He nodded, feeling slightly disappointed as he walked back toward the door and said, “I suppose I’ll—”

“Would you… stay? Just for a while?” The words were spoken so softly and sincerely that his heart nearly burst as he glanced back at her. 

“I…” He hesitated, unsure of himself and unsure of whether this was right.

Her gaze became guarded then as she sank into the bed and turned to face away from him. “It’s alright if you don’t want to. You can go.”

Of course, he wanted to. It was what he what he had been dreaming of for months now, not that he would ever admit such a fact. He slowly made his way to the bed, stopping to unlace and take off his boots before laying down beside her atop the blankets. She turned back towards him and hesitantly burrowed into his chest, and he stroked her hair as held her as he had wished to for far longer than was appropriate.

After what felt like minutes, but was likely far longer, she pulled back to look into his eyes once more. He stroked some hair away from her face as he whispered, “I want you to know that Flayn and I will always be here for you, should you have need us.”

Her gaze flickered down to his mouth, and his heart raced within his chest. “Did you mean it? Last night?” He wasn’t sure exactly which part she was referencing, but he found himself nodding anyway. She leaned forward and lightly pressed her lips against his own and he cupped her cheek as he softly reciprocated. “I like this… with you.”

He softly chuckled, “I’m inclined to agree.”

There were things she would need to know if this were to move forward, but as she settled against him and slowly drifted off to sleep, he told himself that being able to help her through this was more than enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, ya'll!


	9. Dimitri: Finding A Home In Your Embrace

The celebrations were still being had all throughout Fhirdiad when she walked out onto one of the side terraces of Castle Blaiddyd. She could see the fires burning throughout the city, with the faint sounds of cheers and tavern songs reaching her ears even all the way up here. The celebration inside was a smaller affair, though no less jubilant. The Blue Lions had finally taken their home back—Dimitri had finally taken back his home—there was plenty of cause to celebrate. And celebrate they all were, with Sylvain drunkenly crooning a love ballad to an irate Felix, Ingrid and Ashe whispering amongst themselves with soft smiles on their faces, and Annette and Mercedes cuddled up in the corner together. 

As nice as it was to see her Lions so happy, she found that she was too contemplative for revelry tonight. As such, she had snuck out into the night air for a moment of quiet. However, she hadn’t been outside for very long before she heard the rattle of the doorknob behind her. She turned, instinct causing her to place a hand on the hilt of her sword, but relaxed as Dimitri himself walked out onto the terrace with staggered steps.

Oh dear.

“Professor!” He greeted with a slur of her title as he swayed toward her.

A small smile stretched her cheeks as he finally stopped in front of her. “Dimitri, we’ve talked about this, if I may call you Dimitri, you may call me Byleth.”

His lone blue eye softened as he gazed down at her for a moment, before quietly murmuring, “Byleth…” A small shiver went through her at the sound of her name on his lips, though that may have been due to the cold as well. Dimitri’s eye widened somewhat as he reached up and tried to undue the clasp of his cloak, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in difficulty. He finally managed it and took it off his shoulders to drape it over hers, the massive thing nearly swallowing her whole and trailing on the ground behind her. "It may be spring, but the nights are quite chilly here in Fhirdiad."

She softly said, “Thank you,” and appreciated the way it made his flush from the drink he’d obviously had, deepen. 

He cleared his throat quietly before asking, “Have you grown weary of the festivities?”

“I was about to ask you the same.”

“It’s not that I’ve grown weary… more that I find it difficult to be around everyone at the moment. I was watching everyone celebrate, and I realized that you have taught me something very important, Professor.” At her raised eyebrow he corrected himself with a stammered, “B-Byleth.”

“Humor?” she quipped with a small smirk.

Watching his face light up as he dissolved into laughter—drunken though it may be—filled her chest with warmth as she stepped closer in order to help him remain standing. Whether he was conscious of the way he had placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist as he giggled was a mystery, but she found she did not mind this lighter, more carefree demeanor—it suited him. It was also quite nice that he had a moment to relax and enjoy himself after everything he had been through over the last… well… decade.

He slowly regained his composure, stepping closer to her as small chuckles continued to escape him. “You never let up, do you?” He released a happy sigh and she widened her stance as he leaned more of his weight upon her. “No, what I’m referring to is far more valuable.” He looked down at her as his gaze became more contemplative and the last of the lightheartedness left his visage. “How should I put this… Perhaps it is most accurate to say… you taught me how to live.”

“Dimitri…” her unbeating heart twisted in her chest as she reached up to place a hand on his cheek, though she dropped it to hold him up as he swayed to the side. Leave it to Dimitri to contemplate such things while drunk.

“If you and I had not reunited on that fateful day, I am certain I would have died a fruitless death on the battlefield.” Little did he know that he had died many fruitless deaths on the battlefield, only for her to intervene. Even now as she closed her eyes, her mind conjured images of a broken and bleeding Dimitri staring up at her. “I would have foolishly challenged a hoarde of foes and, in so doing, needlessly sacrificed the lives of my friends and myself. But now I have returned to my rightful place. I struggle with what to say when I know well that words are not enough to express my gratitude. You saved me from the darkness, and brought me back to the light…”

He sniffled quietly and she lightly rubbed his side, beginning to struggle as most of his weight was now propped on her. He was far bigger than her, and he was still dressed in his father’s armor which only added to the bulkiness of him. She was strong, though she doubted that she was strong enough for this.

“You are my light…” he tearfully insisted, beginning to shift from joyous to blubbering. “You are so beautiful and kind. You have been there for all of us, through everything we’ve gone through together. You’re like the goddess herself, here to save us. Here to save _me_. I never truly believed in the goddess… and this may be heresy… but _you_ are my goddess.” 

It was so sweet, and she would have loved to appreciate this moment, but Dimitri heaved a loud sob as he hunched over her, clutching her so tightly she was beginning to struggle to breathe. She wheezed, “Dimitri… Dimitri… it’s getting hard to breathe.” He lessened his grip immediately with a whimpered, “Don’t die, Professor.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she soothed with slight chuckle. “Dimitri, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“I only had…” his eyebrows furrowed as his lips pursed thoughtfully, “Five… or six. Seven?”

She smiled. “That will do it. How about I escort you to your room? Would that be alright with you?”

“You’re smile…” he cried, falling deeper into his blubbering stupor. “It’s so mesmerizing… I love it when you smile.”

She bit back a laugh as she adjusted Dimitri’s weight so she could wrap an arm around his waist. “And I love it when you smile. Now let’s get you to bed.” She noticed Dedue at the door, ever watchful and concerned. She nodded and he stepped forward to take Dimitri’s other side as the prince continued to quietly whimper nice things about her under his breath.

“Your Highness… are you alright?”

“He’s just had a bit too much to drink. We’ll get him to bed and all will be alright.”

Dedue nodded. “Of course, Professor. As you wish.” 

Dedue helped her to carry Dimitri up the flights of stairs that led to his old childhood bedroom that they had cleaned out earlier that day. Dedue helped her seat him on the bed before turning to say, “If you wish to return to the festivities, I will prepare him for bed.”

She draped Dimitri’s cloak over a chair as she answered, “It’s alright, I can help him. Why don’t you go back down?”

He pursed his lips, looking between them with an evaluative gaze, before nodding. “I will be back to check on you both in a short while.”

“That will be fine.” She began working on the bindings of Dimitri’s armor as Dedue bowed to both of them and left. 

At the sound of the door closing, Dimitri seemed to rouse himself, and stared at her with one hazy blue eye. “Professor…”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

He seemed to cave in on himself as he sniffled, “I know… that I am unworthy of one such as you…”

She stopped what she was doing to look at him. “Dimitri…”

He continued, either not having heard her or unable to process her objection. “But I find that I cannot stop longing for the warmth of your hands. I wish to hold them in my own forever. I wish to have you as my Beloved until the end of my days, even with the wretched man that I am, stained by all of the wicked things that I have done.”

Her vision blurred as she stared down at her tearful golden prince. She cupped his cheek in her hand, gently guiding his face up so he would look at her. She gently assured him, “You can hold my hand as much as you like, Dimitri. But first, I’m going to take off your armor, alright?”

He feebly reached to wipe a tear that had managed to trail from her eye. “Have I upset you?”

“On the contrary, Dimitri. I am overwhelmingly happy right now.” She smiled, and felt even better as a small one curved Dimitri’s lips in response.

With quite a bit of hassle, she was finally able to pull off the last of Dimitri’s armor, and stacked it neatly near a chair before walking toward the bed. Dimitri had already laid down, curling up in the light clothes he wore beneath his armor, and clutching a pillow to his chest. She took off her own armored pieces before she walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled up onto it, seating herself near him so she could reach out to comb her fingers through golden locks.

He sighed pleasantly as she did so, pushing the pillow aside until he could maneuver himself into a position where he could lay his head on her lap and clutch her legs as he previously had the pillow. She smiled as she began to softly hum, continuing to stroke her fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.

……

Sunlight streamed through the windows and caused his head to throb painfully. He was no stranger to headaches—he’d struggled with them for nearly a decade now—but he still managed a weak groan as he tore open his eye.

The task became easier as it widened in shock and he scrambled backward on the bed, nearly falling off the side of it in his delirious state. Surely this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. The Professor was asleep against the headboard, her head hanging in a way that made _his_ neck ache, and it became painfully clear that he had slept the entire night on her lap.

What had happened? How did they find themselves here? How could hands as stained as his own touch one such as her? 

She inhaled sharply before blearily opening her eyes, only to have them widen slightly as they landed on him. She stretched her arms above her head as she yawned, “I apologize, I must have fallen asleep.” 

“A-Apologize?”

She crawled forward as she analyzed him with piercing green eyes, and he found he could not move beneath the weight of them. “How is your head? Any nausea?”

“A slight headache, but it is nothing to—” his words trailed off as she stood on her knees and pressed glowing hands to the sides of his head, her Faith magic alleviating some of the pressure from his headache. He found himself unable to repress the sigh of relief the feeling coaxed out of him, and he relished in the small smile that graced her features.

“You had a bit to drink last night,” she explained in her same even tone. “I helped you up to bed, but couldn’t resist staying a bit to make sure you were alright. I apologize if I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“O-Overstayed…?” Surely she knows that he could never tire of her presence? Surely she knows that he ponders her visage in waking and dreams of her when he manages sleep? Surely she knows how he longs for her always, and that she could never overstay any sort of welcome from him?

Why was he unable to speak in a moment such as this? 

As she allowed the healing spell to cease, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it up and out of his face. His cheeks warmed at the intimacy of the action, and when she noticed, her mesmerizing smile grew. His heart felt as if it might burst when he glimpsed what looked to be an adoring twinkle in her eye, though the feeling quickly faded as his thoughts reminded him that he was unworthy of such fondness.

He had done nothing but hurt her since they reunited in the Goddess Tower. He had been cruel with his words and dismissive in his actions. The fact that one such as her should look at him in such a way—

“Dimitri…” she cupped his cheek and pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, “I feel I must confess something.”

If such a thing was possible, he seemed to become even more flustered. “C-Confess? Whatever could you be confessing, Professor?”

“Byleth,” she reminded him with a small smile. “I must confess that…” she reached out and took one of his hands in her much smaller one, interlinking their fingers as she stared at him, “…that I would like nothing more than to hold your hand. I would like… to be your Beloved, if you would have me.”

“B-Beloved?” His voice squeaked on the word, and his cheeks felt as if they might melt from his face with the fire beneath them. His whole body felt as if they were back in the awful atmosphere of Ailell. 

“Yes?” she chimed, as if he had dared to address her as such. She leaned forward and the world seemed to slow down as her eyes flickered up to his before fluttering shut as she pressed her lips against his. In an instant, desperate need took over his body as his limbs seemed to act of their own accord, pulling the Professor—puling Byleth—over until she was in his lap. He held her as close as their bodies could allow, returning her kiss with a frantic, sloppy passion. He had never kissed anyone before, but if it felt like this, he wished to kiss only her forevermore.

She pulled back, a smile in her lovely eyes, and cupped his cheek. Her thumb brushed against his cheekbone as she asked, “Was that alright, Dimitri?”

He blurted out, “Can we do that again?”

She chuckled softly as she nodded, already leaning forward to capture his lips once more. He wasn’t sure what had happened last night, but questioning why this was happening was the last thing on his mind as his hands tentatively began to explore her body where it was pressed against his own.

A wonderful thought occurred to him then, that he was finally _home_. And as long as she was with him, he would always be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just know that Dimitri's gonna be the guy ugly crying in the corner of the club, yeah? It'd be adorable though. I'd hold my blubbery husbando as long as he needed. He deserves nothing less.


End file.
